What I love


I get stuck
as often as I am in flow.

Probably more often,
if I'm honest.

And I'm honest
as often as I hide from the truth
even though it's always sitting there,
waiting patiently.

I'm inspired and I'm not.
I'm happy and I'm not.
I'm creative and I'm not.

There are days when I think I make all the sense in the world
and the world disagrees
(rather vehemently, sometimes).

There are days when my brain is scrambled
and I open the release valve to ease the pressure
and people gaze upon the runny mess
like it was a work of genius.

Nobody may know anything
but I know this:
every minute of every day is a fresh chance
to be completely different
to start over
to change myself up completely

To leap in public
(or tell everyone about it)
or to leap in private
and tell no one.

Neither is better
Just different

But that's not what I love.

I love that at any moment
of any hour
of any day
in the middle of making no sense
or the middle of making perfect sense
I can reboot
switch it up
stop altogether
start anew

In any direction I choose
or with no direction at all
or without
acknowledgment or approval

I love the possibility
inherent in each and every moment
even when I don't love
the moments themselves.

I love that there is truth
nestled snugly under each lie
and a start
after each stop.

And mostly
I love that there is sense
waiting patiently in line
behind nonsense
even if nonsense
takes its damned, sweet time about it...


Image by revolooshin via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.