At Home on the Sea of Whatever

I really want to write something amazing, something to touch the heart of millions, yet I don’t know what to write about.

The problem is that I am trying too hard when I set myself such lofty goals. The goals remain but need not cloud my reality by posing an insurmountable obstacle through fear of not being good enough. Better instead to take one step at a time and do what feels right in each moment.

If I feel like writing, as I do now, that is a prompt; no need to sweat the topic and its outcomes, just put pen to paper, or in this instance, fingers to keyboard, aware of the desire to produce something illuminating, trusting that whatever comes will be alright, worthy of reading.

So, here I am, fingers poised and here it comes, that flow, that wave of inspiration that passes over one and is gone in an instant unless seized and enjoyed for what it is, a vacuum, an opportunity to express one’s heart, one’s inner self. But if I force it, it vanishes in an instant, lost in an ocean of thoughts and ideas that pass me by. The wave having past its crest, I settle into the gentle waters of post-wave quiet and just let it be and, as I tread water, waiting for a wave to ride once more, I am at peace, accepting the waves and their absence for the gift they both are.

Then here it comes once more, my fingers poised again, I mount the surf and ride it for all its worth...yet so soon am I back to shore, my heart beating with life and joy and, hey presto, I have given of myself and, now spent, I feel the ecstasy of the moment of realisation that it was the whole of the ride, the peaks and troughs, that have given me what I thought eluded me, something that expresses myself for others to read. It need have no purpose, no goal, no lofty ambition, just the joy of the moment, the expression of the human experience being itself enough, no need for it to be worthy or profound or something more.