Mary Mesenburg2 Comments

Waiting In The Bushes

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

An ebbing undercurrent of an unknown emotion keeps me from starting. What is at the root of this hesitation? I know that I love writing, so why am I avoiding it? I really don’t know, but I want to understand so I can move past it. 

There is a method that I use when I want to understand something about myself; I ask “is it X?” My subconscious will answer with a yes or a no. It is a feeling, a knowing. If I get a “Yes” answer, then I’ll dive deeper and ask why. If it is a “No” answer, then I’ll keep asking questions until I land on a “Yes” answer. It often feels like a conversation with myself.

“Why do I feel this wall that keeps me from even trying to write?” I ask myself.

I’m answered with another question. “Do you feel this way about all writing?” 

“No, I am not afraid of all writing; I can journal, I can write my thoughts (such as these) without any anxiety. It is the writing of fiction that causes the angst.”

I sit and wait…

It appears to be trepidation of not knowing what to say… Aha! I just hit the root. I’ve been sitting here for an hour with a story and nothing is coming to me. Is this the dreaded writer’s block? How interesting! I love solving problems. How do I wiggle my way out of this one? Now, I understand this has held me back before. I give up when the writing doesn’t come easy. But not this time!

The story lies just beneath the surface, I can feel it. It taunts me. She is so close to telling me her secrets. How do I coax her forward? I switched my music playlist to something more aggressive. The beat of action and danger pulses through the next scene. I lay down a breadcrumb snare and step back into the bushes; watching, waiting…

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Childlike Wonder

Sometimes, I’m swept away by the mystery of things I generally take for granted. A sense that I understand absolutely nothing washes over me; a thrilling and slightly frightening feeling. I’m a science nerd, I’ve studied the mechanics of how things work. And yet… there are moments when something inside me bursts forth in amazement at seemingly simple things.

In particular, I find the emergence of new life awe inspiring. I plant a seed and it eventually produces food; real food that nourishes my body. Something I don’t have to purchase. With a little dirt, water, light and care, I can create food. I’m also enthralled by the creation of a human. A child grows inside a mother and becomes a brand new human being, someone that has never existed before. 

My most recent moment of wonderment was centered on reading. I was mid-paragraph in a book by Dani Sharpio when I was suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful that I could read! How amazing is it that a jumble of scribbles on a page actually mean something!? I can explore new information, ideas and experiences through written word. Reading has literally transformed my life by providing me with information that has shaped who I am. 

Tapping into childlike wonder is a way to spark creativity. When I let go of my analytical, grown-up side, something else emerges. A creature that experiences my surroundings with fresh eyes. A being that can see the stories and ideas that are floating all around me, ripe for picking.