I went for a really long walk today. We’re talking like 10 whole blocks round trip. Yep, I walked to the 7-11 convenience store, instead of driving, for pack of smokes for the 1st time in the 10 years I’ve lived in this neighborhood.
When I told Mr. Husband I was doing it he looked at me like I was crazy. People just do not walk here in Big D unless they have no other choice. It’s like a status thing. This city isn’t set up for walking and it’s sort of scary. I didn’t bring an iPod, or phone, or to-do list, just keys and 20 dollar bill in my pocket.
I felt like I was walking down the street naked. I wouldn’t have felt any weirder if I was crawling down the shoulder of a highway. But an interesting thing happened. I wasn’t sight-seeing because I’ve seen this street a gazillion times. No distractions, TV, radio, looking around, talking – just walking and thinking. I was little shocked at how odd it felt. It left me with nothing to do except think.
At first my mind decided to interpret the oddness as ridiculous fears. What if I trip and fall, what if someone runs over me or kidnaps me. Then the scariest fear of all hit me. “Oh my God, what if I can’t write a good story because I’m not outrageous, ballsy, over-the-top enough. I had to stop right there on the sidewalk and bend over to lean on my knees because it made me laugh so hard. If anybody saw me I hope they thought I was taking a breather from jogging.
It occurred to me that I’ve been sort of hiding in the suburbs. I was living my life so hard and fast that I needed a break. My mind drifted back over the vignettes I’ve been writing in a memoir of sorts. When I read back over them I think, good grief, if someone told me tales similar to what I’ve done I wouldn’t even believe them. Then a blessed Eureka moment occurred. I don’t even have to make up stuff for a work of fiction. I only have change names and places to come up with one helluva a bizarre tale. Writers have suggested it to each other for years, but it never really sunk into me, my heart, until today.
Then I went back to mental fidgeting. Yes I could fictionalize my life story, but I’m not done living yet. How do you come up with an ending when it hasn’t happened yet? I guess that’s where the creative thinking comes in. And who says it has to have an absolute ending anyway? My tales wouldn’t fit in one book anyway. Tally ho! I’m off again, re-inspired and ready to rock.