Discussing your desire can be embarrassing. Exposing your ambitious passion can often times make you feel as if you’ve mutated into cringe incarnate. The dream that accompanies every waking thought - which essentially dominates your brain to the point where it’s difficult to talk about anything other than your creative goals - is the same concept you suppress from casual conversation. If these fantasies and lofty career aspirations make up such large portions of our gray matter (and can even feel physically beyond, seemingly flowing within our whole body’s bloodstream), then why is it sometimes awkward to publicly display?
The reason for me (most of the time) is to not sound pretentious. Who am I to boast of any ideas? Have I sold a bajillion copies of anything? Compare and despair plays a big part in my hesitancy to share my deepest daydreams of making it big as an author. I don’t want to sound like the middle-aged dude in a go-nowhere band, or the man-child all-day gamer. Even writing that makes me feel like I should apologize and that I don’t have anything against late-in-life goals or hobbies. Heck, I fit the bill when it comes to both, though I’m not much of a gamer, and a lot of my extracurricular activities are brainless time-wasters. A large chunk of my hobbies, though, are ultimately contributing to an even huger target. Still, the creative pursuit can at least look like a frivolous endeavor that friends and family humor. Writing fiction is, of course, a passion of mine, but it’s also a frustrating one when there isn’t much in the way of instant gratifications.
A lot of the time I resist the urge to indulge in my author-related projects unless the topic of conversation is initiated by someone else. Despite having a legitimately intrigued audience, I will still attempt to limit the info-dump I’m avalanching upon the well-meaning yet unsuspecting person. The self-censor is partially out of politeness but mainly for myself to not sound like an utter weirdo. Recently, however, I had the gift of a certain kind of freedom - a liberating moment where I could fully immerse myself in inspiration.
This flow of exciting ideas was a silent, internalized experience - and brief - but it was a welcome release of fretting over any outward appearances. No, there wasn’t an opportunity to shout these story ideas from the rooftops, but my mind’s unraveling of characters and their fantastical actions didn’t need to be anything other than an interior wandering. Normally, taking a trip into my “mind palace” would be reserved for spare moments throughout the day or perhaps a random idea would manifest itself within my brain and I’d follow for however long I could before resuming whatever daily work or routine I’d be doing at the time. This particular instance from only a few days ago at the time of this writing occurred at a time where it was appropriate and okay to mentally lose myself in a sequence of scenes for a piece of fiction I’ve been developing. My muse in this case was none other than the ocean.
Beach vacations are known for the relaxing times of peaceful meandering and/or serene introspection. My recent trip provided these things, sure, but like with many excursions, there are planning elements, as well as the stress of navigating through a different environment. My sandy getaway may not have offered as many thought-clearing states as I may have liked, but the idyllic moments the vacay did offer were priceless gifts.
I stood knee-deep in cool seawater, enjoying the mercifully mild weather, and permitting myself to know that at that very moment, my situation was a safe and acceptable one. I had achieved the stress-free comfort that soothing shorelines are capable of giving. It was during a time where few others occupied the beach, so the atmosphere was even more freeing. Even the stronger waves’ crashing carried dulcet tones, and the soft breezes blew around my body, reminding me of how wonderfully insignificant I am in the grand scheme of things - while simultaneously assuring the importance of me and everyone and everything else. It’s a good place to be.
The moment evaporated as it reached what was apparently its natural conclusion, but I was gifted the time of mental exploration. Undisturbed yet swirling with activity like the ocean itself, I allowed for some unadulterated imagining. I believe what made this experience more noteworthy than any other time I happen to think of soothing that would be cool to throw into a story is that this was fully acknowledged and embraced. At the risk of coming off as strange or humiliating myself with “gee whiz” naïveté, I am publicly posting this blog that may or may not get read. Cringe or no cringe.
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