hacky thoughts

i was sitting in an airplane a few weeks ago, thinking how much i wanted to write.  i have been missing the process, the effort, of casting my thoughts outwards.  i had just had an interesting conversation with the lead flight attendant, the majority of which i have already forgotten.  as i sat there, i considered the coming lose of the thoughts embedded within that conversation.  i knew they would slip away, left to float in the clouds over the great wall of life.  i wondered if the next time we bumped into each other we would even remember that we had met, that we had shared the conversation and smiles it evoked.  was the banter worth having, worth trying to save in any form, even just a memory, or should it be allowed to be lost in the wind.

i have not been writing at all.  it has not been intentional, it just has not come.  my process of writing is to have a random thought and to feel it bounce around inside my head until i get a chance to let it out.  before throwing it out there, i wonder if i could expose the thought to my inner circle.  these are the people who i make the effort to share with.  they are the ones that when i am not with them, i take the time to tell them what i am doing.  they are the ones i imagine around a table enjoying unstructured randomness together.  my circle is not surprised by the randomness, they see it come towards them and they step up and kick the thought in a new direction.

this inner circle is not elitist or ceremonial.  it's not difficult to join, you just help keep the thoughts floating through the air, adding your own spin as you take a turn.  we are like an slacker collection of oddity on the quad, or the relaxed skaters hanging out in the park below trinity church.  people come and go, they join or leave the group without structure or formality.  it's all about keeping the ball in the air and being nimble enough to react to the new direction of a moving thought.  when the thought does hit the ground, there is a laugh, a bit of teasing and someone helpfully adds a new thought and throws it back into the mix.

but what does a player do when there is no circle.  sitting alone watching other jets zip by at the combined speed of modern travel, wondering if there is someone over there looking out their window with their own thoughts, considering what would happen if you had the chance to stand together and share.  randomness comes, but no one is there throw in with.  you might be standing among a group and consider if they would appreciate it when you reached into a bag to take out a colorful package of thoughts.  would they hack in, or stand there wondering why one would want to play?  writing is my attempt to keep that circle going, when time and space keep it apart.

lately, i have not been writing because i have been too busy; which is a convenient lie covered by truth.  i have been busy, but the therapy value of massaging thoughts usually gets prioritized.  the honest reason i have not be writing is that i don't know what i want to share.  i am blocked by an anxiety of the clock.  i remember being in the playground and rather than playing, i was watching for the streetlights to come on.  this was our neighborhood's sign that it was time to go home.  when the streetlights came on, we would burst towards our bikes as the game came to an abrupt end regardless of score.  i have not been playing, because i am watching the streetlights.  i am in the park at the top of caswell ave, it's almost dark but the lights have not come on, the rules say i should be in the game, but i know it's almost time to race.  i have been focused on the ending, because of my inner clock's ticking.

in the mean time, the game is being played around me.  i have been felt my turns for randomness come and go.  i have thought about sharing and have simply let them pass.  the lights have not yet come on, and the game is not ready to end.  playground rules say these moments matter most, playgrounds do not have clocks for a good reason.  having the ability to play, and seeing friends send that thought back through the air is worth ignoring the anxiety of formality.  now is not the time to take yourself out of the game and watch the lights.  the game will end, but for now it's time to hack in and remember that the circle matters.

that flight attendent came back to my seat as i was considering the germ of these thoughts.  she might have thought she was asking about my tea cup sitting alone, untouched, when she asked, "are you done?".  that was the question i have been considering without really knowing it.

i looked up at her and smiled as i replied, "no, i am not".

second shot

i started writing this blog... a long time ago.

i started writing this blog to raise my voice and keep a record.  it gives longevity to thoughts that might otherwise be lost.  i am doing this for me, and for a very select few who i actively want to share with.  i have never thought of this as a forum for general consumption, it is too personal and frankly too boring.  these are the thoughts that bounce around in my head, the posts have given them a vehicle to escape into the wild while also being stored safely for later.  but, mostly, the posts allow half-thoughts to be worked into a completed form, my version of cleaning up a workspace.

my first opening volley was more of an invitation than a thought.  it was the commitment to carry on with a goal.  it may feel like one and a half lifetimes ago, but was truly just a moment at a cross road.  for anyone who has been following, i am warning you now that i am at a cross road again.  i remember hearing that we change every seven years to become a different person, and although i am in the middle of the calendar cycle, change is looming.

i am declaring the close of one phase and the opening of another.  as i sit on a balcony overlooking the south china sea, i am feeling like a nordic athlete soon to be transitioning from skiing to shooting portion of the biathlon.  i know i need to lower my pulse rate before i transition, my legs are tired, i am dripping in sweat and my fingers are tingling with the effects of adrenaline.  it is almost time to stop and focus on the target, the driving effort has to be tempered, so i can take on the shot and avoid a penalty.

if the metaphor of biathlon while hiding in a resort on borneo doesn't work for you, stop reading now.  i am going to write; long, strange and personal, because it is what calms me.  this is my way of settling myself down for the effort.  this is my race, and i want a record of it for later.  i want to be able to look at the tape and see my form as i took that hill.  it's not for others to see me win or lose, but for my inner coach to monitor and remember how i felt on days like today.

this is my second shot, let the new chapter begin.