My writing process is a lot like setting a kid free in an amusement park.
The only difficult part is deciding what to ride first and how to spend your tickets.
I immediately regress to being a fifth grader without a filter, or a concept of what is “appropriate” for that matter.
I guess that’s what I love about writing. It….frees me.
[When you’re truly passionate something, you’ll do anything to achieve it. Nothing will limit you]
You see, kids don’t care what they look like. They just do it. No matter how silly or stupid.
If you look back on your childhood, you know I’m right.
God, if I could remember half the hilarious stuff we got away with…I’d have a bestselling memoir on my hands.
I mean, come on. Do you really think you can grow up in a house with 8 other family members, and not have some wild stories?
When we weren’t organizing our own soccer teams and choosing sides, or seeing how many of us we could fit on a mattress without our grip being jolted loose as we hit the bottom of the stairs…..we were finding new ways to give our parents hell.
Not intentionally. (most of the time). Kids are just naturally creative and find new ways to do something when you tell them “no”.
They really think outside of the box when they want something. They don’t let obstacles stop them. It’s all or nothing.
Okay….just go with me on this.
Do you have that one memory that just sticks out for some reason? And its random- you have no idea why?
I really hate how we forget the majority of the “minuscule” or “mundane” events in our lives. I put quotations around that because, whatever little guy is up in my brain deciding what’s “important” and what’s not — I wanna punch him in the face.
I think the intro to Donald Miller’s book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years says it best:
“The saddest part about life is you don’t remember half of it. You don’t even remember half of half of it. Not even a tiny percentage, if you want to know the truth. I have this friend Bob who writes down everything he remembers. If he remembers dropping an ice cream cone on his lap when he was seven, he’ll write it down. The last time I talked to Bob, he had written more than five hundred pages of memories. He’s the only guy I know who remembers his life. He said he captures memories because if he forgets them, it’s as though they didn’t happen; it’s as though he hadn’t lived the parts he doesn’t remember”
I remember stealing a two-pound bag of powdered sugar from the pantry in 3rd grade, sneaking up behind my brother, Drew, jumping from the top of the couch spread-eagle, and smashing it WWE style on his unsuspecting head. It snowed in our living room that day. Seriously, everything was covered in white. I vividly remember how it was the first time my mother tried to scold me, but couldn’t hold back the smile and enormous laugh bubbling up.
Drew [right], me [left]
When she asked me why I did it— I have no idea. Probably because I didn’t care about the consequences (just being honest). I was living in the moment.
Yet I do not remember getting attacked by Dalmatian dogs as a child, splitting my face open. (still have 3 pretty badass scars on my face from it). I remember getting my first set of cowboy boots, a vest, a toy pistol & rifle, and the whole get-up – as a 6 year old probably. Yet I can’t remember the name of the guy I taught a Literature Seminar with, just this summer.
Despite what psychologists might say about the reason why certain memories fade and other remain, as due to painful or important events…..I have to disagree.
There’s some important things I wish I could remember, and some random things that always manage to surface.
Frustrating to say the least. And you can just forget intentional recall. Nothing’s worse than when someone says, “Oh do you remember….?!” — and you have absolutely NO recollection. No matter how hard you try.
You see, in our lives — it’s a jumbled mess. It takes old age for us to be able to neatly piece together a comprehend-able storyline which others can smoothly follow in its re-telling.
That’s why we love novels.
They follow rules of concise chapters. An entire year or two is broken down and summarized in 200 pages.
We expect the writer to only give us the most relevant information. But, unfortunately, our brain doesn’t work like that.
Neither do our lives.
So, whether you’re an artist or not,
We don’t get to skip over the embarrassing parts, the screw-ups, and unrelated hardships. (although everyone else remembers them for me. Gee thanks.)
We have to be willing to risk looking stupid, to appear silly, if we are ever to write an interesting narrative with our life.
Somewhere along the way…..we mistook growing up & maturity for the structured & mundane.
Give yourself space to run. Room to make mistakes. Room to create a story worth living.