today i chatted with a friend about my plans for nanowrimo. i got excited about several different projects i wanted to write, and, like the intellectual giants that we are, we discussed them in all caps. eventually i came to something of a conclusion about which book i wanted to write and the necessary preparation.
with almost a month until nano (and no plot), i faced the option of either working on the middle-grade novella that i told myself i would write in october (.........because that's going really well, and by really well i mean it isn't going at all), or exploring my ideas for the potential nanowrimo book. so of course i ended up shaking, overwhelmed by the urgency of writing something worthwhile, something significant, something that wouldn't easily fade into obscurity, unnoticed and immaterial. even now, it terrifies me: this feeling that i have to hurry, i have to write something learn something teach something say something do something there is no time, the world is here and waiting for me to matter and as yet i have done nothing important.
well, aside from the fact that i have done important things, i cannot do everything right now. i cannot hold out my hand and magically produce a well-written, nuanced, meaningful novel in the space of three seconds. i cannot learn to paint and create a masterpiece to dwell in a home or museum, shaping people's moments, by the time i sleep tonight. i cannot grow a tall, vibrant tree before my siblings get home from school.
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| because trees & the sky, man |
but i can plant the seed.
i can write a sentence, a paragraph, a page, however inconsequential those words are now. i can go inside and search the house until i find a twisted plastic paintbrush and something to be my color. i can take a deep breath. i can step outside and see mountains and flowers and trees and clouds in the sky and grass and warm-colored leaves. i can put my fingers to the keyboard and try to capture my fears on this page, despite the terrifying feeling that what i have to say can never be pinned down into words others can understand.
someday i will be able to speak what i feel clearly and find words that will hold my thoughts. i dream of changing people's worlds, of speaking and writing exactly what someone needs to hear. i want to stand before large crowds and offer words alive with significance. someday i may open a nonprofit for religious and/or mentally ill lgbtqiap youth, or teach college students the joys of literature. i want to hear hundreds of people's stories. i want to bring light to tired eyes. it hurts that i cannot accomplish these things today.
but the only way to accomplish them is by beginning. now. in this moment, where the air is cold and snow has dusted the tops of the mountains and scattered dandelions disperse their seeds and i sit on my porch, cross-legged. it is true -- meaning and significance and changing the world are not things that can wait. but these trees take years to grow, and they start now, in the smallest of moments.
