Skip to main content

Dreamers and Doers

I was driving home last night, and the sun was setting behind the trees, leaving them a black sillohette against a burning sky.  It happens almost every night, but last night, I thought to myself how fortunate we are to live here in this world, so full of magic and wonder all the time.

I know that I am particularly succeptible to this kind of imput, I am predisposed to seeing these things, I live my life mostly in my head, and in words and images; this is my business and my joy.  And it may be a form of mental illness, but my writer's brain narrates events even as they are happening to me, even as I experience the world in life, my head is filled with words.

I am exceptionally fortunate to live where I do, with the people I do, I am blessed with eyes that can see these things and blessed with a mind that can sometimes describe things so others can see them too, even if they see them differently than I do, and only in their head.

With the right kind of eyes, this world can be magic.

There are other kind of people, important, smart people, that are more focused are more driven by other things, that see importance in things that I do not, that are driven by careers and money and status in a way that I am not, and I don't want to give the impression that I am looking down on these people or lifting them up, either, they are just different than I am, they see value in things that I do not, discard things that I find important, and that is just fine. These people get things done, they can call customer service and be their own advocate in official situations.  They write letters and instigate discussions, they, in other words, get shit done.  I wish I had a lot of that myself really.  I wish I was more on top of things, I wish I remembered appointments, I wish running errands and calling the cable company didn't seem so insurmountable, I really do.

People are different, thats all.  People see the world differently, they value different things and that doesn't make me or them better than the other.  We all contribute, just differently.  Some people are doers and some people are dreamers, but we all bring good things to the world, don't we? When the PDA planner chimes lesiure time, and the doers need a break?  They pick up a book that a dreamer wrote, they listen to music that a dreamer made or watch a movie conceived by a creator.  These things would never be possible with out doers though; they publish our books, distrubute our music, finance our movies, they are patrons for our symphonies and our theatres.  They make life move along, we just make it worth moving along with.

I was driving home last night and the sun lit fire to the sky and I was filled with wonder and awe for the magical, musical world we live in and I felt truly blessed to have the eyes I do, to have the mind I do, I felt blessed to have a wonderful family in the car with me, blessed that my life is filled with love and joy.  I'm not rich, and I will never be great at calling the insurance company, but damn I wouldn't trade this for all the stock options in the world, I wouldnt trade this for a cleaner house or a more organized schedule.  Im a dreamer.

Consider: what are you seeing when you drive home from work today, when you step out of your front door, when you see strangers on the street walking their dogs?  What does the world look like to you?

Take a moment.  Dream with me.

Still Writing,

RP  9-18-15

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fighting for Clarity

There's this to be said about fighting: while you're doing it, you don't have room in your head for anything else, not your busted ass car or your worries about your family, not the leak under your bathroom sink, or how you're going to pay your bills.  There's only breathe one two, step out of range, shift off the center line, move breathe one three two slip the jab level change three to the body check the low kick counter one two...  it is a better escape than most, and I've tried most of them, believe me. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here. I get humbled and beat up at every session, I don't understand why I even go. I'm feeling defeated; everything is so fucking hard for me, and I don't know why I'm doing it. I should just quit, right? Fuck you.  I'll show you motherfuckers what I am capable of. I'll show you-  And then I go and I try and my knees give and I get pummeled and twisted and what the fuck man how humble do I

#FFF

So as many of you must know, November is National Novel Writing Month and writers everywhere get all wound up and try to knock out a novel in a month.  It is abbreviated as NaNoWriMo or something stupid, presumably an event created by and intended for writers and that's the best thing that they could come up with?  The world's most garbage portmanteau?  Writing circles generally call it Nano, which is only marginally better, but at least its shorter.  I never do it because November is a terrible month to attempt to do anything other than watch football and dream of turkey and mashed potatoes and whatnot.  Who has time to sit down at the keys in November? I don't know about y'all, but I haven't been able to do jack shit creatively in the last year, what with the pandemic and the election and protests and civil unrest and the many and varied other goddamn attacks on my peace and sanity and holy shit it was all I could do to hold it together and not run screaming out o

We Would Be a Song

I seem to define my life with soundtracks, playlists that encompass epochs or periods of change or development.  My earliest music was my mother's: Van Halen and Judas Priest, Def Leppard and AC/DC.  I remember a friend of hers explaining to second grade Ralph that the big balls that Angus was singing about were parties, but even then I didn't buy it.  My teen years were heavy on grunge, Nirvana and Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, and that was the first time that music ever felt like it was mine , that I discovered by myself or through the radio, or like minded friends, that was the first time that I took it and owned it and loved it, and even now I'll hear Black Hole Sun or Rooster or Smells Like Teen Spirit on the radio and back I go. In the fifth grade, I moved to Kelso, Washington. I want to say that it was hard, but what I remember mostly from childhood is just this sense of taking every day as it arrived.  What else do we have except our own experiences to measure th