It's a bit disconcerting to think about the fact that the desk in my room seems to have become the kryptonite to my writing creatively of late. The last 3 things I've written have been at locations other than said desk. As I type this right now, I am lying down on my bed to the right of that desk. I just can't quite figure out why.
Oh sure, the fact that my desk is covered in a mountain of mail, random papers, and some CDs among other things is the obvious scapegoat. I don't buy it though. I've penned some of my best work under much more wretched conditions at this very desk. However, the content and personal action items contained in this random paperwork might be a bit daunting. Maybe my desk is becoming too much of a handle business or face reality place. I sit there and I inevitably pick up the phone and start to make some sense of things like my finances (or lack thereof).
I called myself getting my so-called mojo back last week at Starbucks. There's something about that place that has historically made me write. I might not write the most coherent things but I write. Maybe I feel a kinship with the other writers (i know that...that's so cliche!) and coffee shop types that are there. The music is always good and despite all of the people coming and going in and out of the door, I manage to maintain focus. Perhaps it's a concentration thing. At home, being focus takes discipline the way shooting 1000 jumpshots in a gym by yourself does. You can shoot 675 and nobody will know but you. Being at Starbucks is like being in a noisy arena and heading to the free throw line with :02 on the clock and you're down by 1. You focus on that spot on the back of the rim, block out the crowd and calmly knock down the shots. I guess I'm not so coherent here either. Maybe I am. I'll read it again tomorrow to be sure.
But back to the matter at hand. My desk just doesn't seem to be "where the magic happens" anymore. For that matter, not much magic has happened anywhere lately. Just for the sake of science, I vow to clean that desk and make it functional again. Maybe that will allow me to get organized. If you had asked me last week, I would've probably given you some excuse about how being too organized will make my writing too methodical and less creative. That would be precisely the antithesis of what I aim to do. As they say, though, desperate times call for desperate measures.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
I ran
As soon as my eyes opened this morning I already knew that today was going to be one of those days. Just what “those” would exactly encompass would not be immediately revealed, but my funky attitude was poised to take the reigns and lead me down a path. It wasn't at all a we-want-the-funk-give-up-the-funk-gotta-have-that-funk type of attitude. There was no real type of thing going down nor any getting down. There surely was not a whole lot of rhythm going round. There would be no images of Soul Brother #1 and the JB's dancing at the foot of my bed, Maceo belting out the first few bars of “Make it Funky”. Not even a more cooled out, Pop-Top-40, R ‘n’ B,Urban-Contemporary, Easy-Listening, Funk Love. Mine was more of a toxic leak, contamination, foulest stench in the air so thick you can cut right through it with a knife kind of funk. There was nothing positive about my funk.
I most definitely had a scowled countenance. Pretty foul indeed. I know. Especially given that my morning rise-and-shine ritual starts with “Thank you, Lord for waking me to see another glorious day....” Foul. Try as I may to shake this off, I hoped that He couldn't sense an ounce of disingenuousness in my mental recitation. (I don't do the 8-year-old-now-i-lay-me-down-to-sleep-kneeling-next-to-my-bed-out-loud-prayer...do you?). Omniscience is a funny thing and yet I dare to wonder. In the words of the immortal Marvin Gaye, I woke up with that “make me wanna holler, throw up all my hands” (all 2 of 'em) type feeling, and it was all because I got up late. Seriously. That's all it was.
It was as if my whole day would be ruined, and subsequently the whole balance in the universe would be upset because my clock showed 8:19am. I didn't have anywhere to be. No meeting. No interview. Nothing. I was instantly Mr. Doom and Gloom all because of this notion that I have developed that my days are all down hill if I haven't finished working out by 8am. That's what I get for going to bed at 130am. The theory goes that if I don't get it done by then, something will undoubtedly come up and as the day drags on, somehow I won't get to work out and in addition to a dark cloud following me all day, parking tickets being placed on my car, and the IRS sending me a notice of their intent to audit me, I'll feel like a slacker for having missed that day.
I dropped to the floor and did 25 push-ups, as if that would lessen the impact. I turned on the television and every news outlet was all abuzz about Iran and the demonstrations that were going on over there due to some suspect dealings surrounding the results of their presidential election. Tens of thousands of people marched down Tehran's main thoroughfare in a show of their dissatisfaction with the outcome. Incumbent President Ahmadinejad would remain in power. Well, sort of. There's still the Supreme Leader or Ayatollah by the name of Khamenei who is commander in Chief of the military among other things. Who's really in charge? Through my democratic-republic goggles, it seems a tad confusing if not thought provoking. I listened as some CNN talking heads referenced a quote from President Obama that suggested either choice would probably have the same sort of policy toward the U.S. In other words, Iran is still gonna do what they're gonna do. Without getting too deep into thought about the political ramifications of the situation, I started to think about how it would affect me. Is this going to put a damper on any plans to cross Iran off as a place that I've visited on our planet? It's been tenuous at best these last few years as it is. I still tell myself that I'll go anywhere (with the exception of any war zones like Baghdad or Fallujah) despite the crazy facial responses and otherwise negative reactions that I get from friends and loved ones when I say such things. No, I'm not really that shallow. I'm aware of the tremendous civil rights gains that are potentially at stake for the first time in that country, especially for women. Recall that I'm still sitting at the edge of my bed at this point, in my boxers. Deep thoughts are not exactly raging through my mind yet.
As fate would have it, I managed to salvage the day. Not only did I get through a couple items from a very ill-conceived to-do list, but I ran. Forgive me for the shameless play on words, but this was actually a big deal. I haven't run in a year. What turned out to be a much more major knee surgery (September '08) than previously thought has not only kept me very far removed from the basketball courts that I love to roam but has also made me seriously consider taking up another past time like water polo or becoming the black Michael Phelps. (Why do WE always have to become the black-something? Do you think the folks at Harvard are calling themselves the Morehouse of the North? Food for thought for another time...). Yes, I've spent a lot of time in the pool when I'm not at a physical therapy session. I like swimming a lot but not being able to run has made me feel rather confined. Shoot, sometimes I feel downright invalid.
I love to run. I always have. There have been times over the last 10 months that I didn't know if I'd ever be able to run again. Running has always been such a big part of my life. In addition to being a fairly necessary part of all of the sports that I've played my whole life it has often been quite therapeutic. It has the power to clear my head. It has the unique ability to allow me to find out what my physical limits are like no other exercise can. I don't know what it is , but I haven't often been able to get the desired amount of intensity in my workouts when they don't include some running. The void left by running has indeed been tough to fill.
How ironic it is that the long dormant spirit of revolution in a people long kept under wraps by their circumstance and societal norm is emerging on the same day, at the same time that my long (well, not quite as long, but it seemed like it) unfulfilled desire to lace up my Nike's and blaze a trail down the street would be satisfied. Iran. Hmmmm? I think I'm ready for that deep thought now.
I most definitely had a scowled countenance. Pretty foul indeed. I know. Especially given that my morning rise-and-shine ritual starts with “Thank you, Lord for waking me to see another glorious day....” Foul. Try as I may to shake this off, I hoped that He couldn't sense an ounce of disingenuousness in my mental recitation. (I don't do the 8-year-old-now-i-lay-me-down-to-sleep-kneeling-next-to-my-bed-out-loud-prayer...do you?). Omniscience is a funny thing and yet I dare to wonder. In the words of the immortal Marvin Gaye, I woke up with that “make me wanna holler, throw up all my hands” (all 2 of 'em) type feeling, and it was all because I got up late. Seriously. That's all it was.
It was as if my whole day would be ruined, and subsequently the whole balance in the universe would be upset because my clock showed 8:19am. I didn't have anywhere to be. No meeting. No interview. Nothing. I was instantly Mr. Doom and Gloom all because of this notion that I have developed that my days are all down hill if I haven't finished working out by 8am. That's what I get for going to bed at 130am. The theory goes that if I don't get it done by then, something will undoubtedly come up and as the day drags on, somehow I won't get to work out and in addition to a dark cloud following me all day, parking tickets being placed on my car, and the IRS sending me a notice of their intent to audit me, I'll feel like a slacker for having missed that day.
I dropped to the floor and did 25 push-ups, as if that would lessen the impact. I turned on the television and every news outlet was all abuzz about Iran and the demonstrations that were going on over there due to some suspect dealings surrounding the results of their presidential election. Tens of thousands of people marched down Tehran's main thoroughfare in a show of their dissatisfaction with the outcome. Incumbent President Ahmadinejad would remain in power. Well, sort of. There's still the Supreme Leader or Ayatollah by the name of Khamenei who is commander in Chief of the military among other things. Who's really in charge? Through my democratic-republic goggles, it seems a tad confusing if not thought provoking. I listened as some CNN talking heads referenced a quote from President Obama that suggested either choice would probably have the same sort of policy toward the U.S. In other words, Iran is still gonna do what they're gonna do. Without getting too deep into thought about the political ramifications of the situation, I started to think about how it would affect me. Is this going to put a damper on any plans to cross Iran off as a place that I've visited on our planet? It's been tenuous at best these last few years as it is. I still tell myself that I'll go anywhere (with the exception of any war zones like Baghdad or Fallujah) despite the crazy facial responses and otherwise negative reactions that I get from friends and loved ones when I say such things. No, I'm not really that shallow. I'm aware of the tremendous civil rights gains that are potentially at stake for the first time in that country, especially for women. Recall that I'm still sitting at the edge of my bed at this point, in my boxers. Deep thoughts are not exactly raging through my mind yet.
As fate would have it, I managed to salvage the day. Not only did I get through a couple items from a very ill-conceived to-do list, but I ran. Forgive me for the shameless play on words, but this was actually a big deal. I haven't run in a year. What turned out to be a much more major knee surgery (September '08) than previously thought has not only kept me very far removed from the basketball courts that I love to roam but has also made me seriously consider taking up another past time like water polo or becoming the black Michael Phelps. (Why do WE always have to become the black-something? Do you think the folks at Harvard are calling themselves the Morehouse of the North? Food for thought for another time...). Yes, I've spent a lot of time in the pool when I'm not at a physical therapy session. I like swimming a lot but not being able to run has made me feel rather confined. Shoot, sometimes I feel downright invalid.
I love to run. I always have. There have been times over the last 10 months that I didn't know if I'd ever be able to run again. Running has always been such a big part of my life. In addition to being a fairly necessary part of all of the sports that I've played my whole life it has often been quite therapeutic. It has the power to clear my head. It has the unique ability to allow me to find out what my physical limits are like no other exercise can. I don't know what it is , but I haven't often been able to get the desired amount of intensity in my workouts when they don't include some running. The void left by running has indeed been tough to fill.
How ironic it is that the long dormant spirit of revolution in a people long kept under wraps by their circumstance and societal norm is emerging on the same day, at the same time that my long (well, not quite as long, but it seemed like it) unfulfilled desire to lace up my Nike's and blaze a trail down the street would be satisfied. Iran. Hmmmm? I think I'm ready for that deep thought now.
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