Thirty-three minutes to Monday. Sounds like the title to a song. It has been a busy weekend, perhaps one of the busiest yet this year. It’s interesting that, although not busy in an overwhelming way, I have been engaged in some sort of activity that was planned to one degree or another since Friday afternoon. But I haven’t done very much writing. And I am having trouble deciding what I want to say and how I want to say it - even now.
Life has its ups and downs, or perhaps more accurately, it has its ebbs and flows. Indeed, life these days is rarely “down,” but it definitely cycles in an odd sort of multidimensional wave. Different aspects, or creative processes of my existence might be in bloom while others are dormant. To further complicate the paradigm, these cycles are of varying length; they could be as short as a few hours to as long as many years. And, of course, they are subject to change without notice.
I suppose, too, it is probable that these discrete processes are not entirely independent of each other; that there is probably at least some cursory interrelation between them. Perhaps it is this interlacing of all these various and sundry components that make up each of our unique experiences. Maybe because I spent a great deal of time shooting pictures this weekend, the urge to express myself creatively in other ways - like writing - was mitigated. Or it could be that nothing much has struck me profoundly enough that I was compelled to document it. I know that I can just throw down words at will. I know this, but…
But what about that will? I have known for a very long time - at least as far back as junior high school - that I have the capability and the faculties to do most anything. And when I say anything, I mean just that. True, at this stage in my life there are a number of things that are beyond my capabilities, but when I was young, nothing was. And I think I knew it even then. All the same, most anything is still within my grasp. It’s not a matter of if I can or not; it’s a matter of if I will. It has always been a matter of willingness.
It should be apparent by now that I have found the willingness to write something before this weekend has come to a close. It is now four minutes to Monday and in at least this one aspect, the weekend is now complete. These cycles, these irregular, multidimensional, interrelated yet independent, life-defining cycles are not completely random and can be influenced by attitude. Sometimes it takes a conscious effort to get willing. Willingness combined with capability, however, still did not produce anything.
The final component - the key, really - to this model is responsible not only for the words that appear here, but also for the lack thereof all weekend. Work. Willingness without action means nothing. Capability unrealized is worthless. It takes effort; it takes action; it takes work. I have not written all weekend not because I have been busy not writing, but because I have been busy doing other things. Did taking numerous photos on Saturday fill some sort of creativity quota? Maybe, but it depends upon how one defines "creative."
If defined broadly enough, all results from work represent creation; consequently all work is creative. In that respect, I have been creative all weekend. I’m not so sure the taking of pictures, as a specific activity, supplanted the need to write. It was either the process of expending energy - creative energy - all weekend that kept me away from the keyboard or, one could argue, the need to express myself through the written word wasn’t supplanted at all; the evidence is before you. The bottom line is simple enough: If I do nothing, nothing happens. Although the words often come very easily (tonight, not so much), they never write themselves - someone has to write them.