Photo by Andy Rukes Enhanced with AI
I spiral
Without direction
Neither up nor down
Merely outward
With the universe
I’ve thought many times that someday I’d write my autobiography. I also wondered whether or not there was enough to write about.
After writing a Fringe play about my awakening, for lack of a better word, I realized that, yeah, there’s a lot of stuff that I could write about. I could write books. However, after gathering all my memories and milling them into one simple ingredient: the essence of myself, I saw the play for what it was meant to be, a process. Ironically, for me, the art is in the telling of it.
As the need to write about what’s important to me grew, I began living more actively. I began seeing my life as a story. Every second. Every one twenty fourth of a second. I am no longer interested in writing about past experiences any more than I am interested in living in the past, however grateful I am for every moment of it.
I feel resistance while writing these words. Are they important? Am I crazy?
Regardless, it’s my responsibility. I have unwittingly made myself responsible for painting my life beautiful. And what is beauty, if not to be shared?
I’m finished trying to make sense of it. I just accept it and in that, I have found peace.
This morning I was walking along the sea wall. As I passed a couple in mid-conversation I overheard one of them say to the other, “Do you want to hear something really creepy about this guy at the swimming pool?” and I thought of stopping them and saying (a split second too late) “Can you tell me too? Or would that be too creepy?” I thought it was hilarious and felt confident the spirit of the moment would cause everyone to laugh. It’s as much how you say something as what you say. Had I asked, I may have been told the story, I may not. That wasn’t the point for me, the point for me was merely shared levity.
As I walked away wishing I had said something. I wondered what trajectory that would have put my life on. Momentary friends enjoying a laugh? Recognition? Connection? A cautious, nervous laugh among strangers?
I mused over the missed opportunity as I approached a couple walking ahead of me. By the time I caught up to them, I decided that I wanted to weave a story around my missed opportunity. After telling them briefly what just happened and how I wanted to write about it, I asked them if I could take their picture to accompany my writing. They agreed and we went our separate ways.
We are now five strangers connected with a common experience. Some unknowingly.
Unless, of course, they stumble across this.
And I think that’s beautiful.