Just one stroke
Of cherry red on white
Then another
Not much, I know,
But the strokes add up
Faster than I could imagine
Filling in the space
With color, with crimson sharp
Against green leaf
A flick of brush
Isn't much at all
On its own
But when are brush strokes
Singled out one by one
Set apart
No
Though the brush strokes
Each are little enough
They become the whole
Be patient
Keep painting little strokes
And see the world form
Swirling into beautiful existence
Under your fingertips.
Showing posts with label patience. Show all posts
Showing posts with label patience. Show all posts
Monday, November 19, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
The Art of Waiting Patiently
A recent game I tapped into on Yahoo Games had a cute message as it loaded up:
"i am somewhat impatient, but i know that the game will be loaded soon"
It made me think so much of my own life--well, two aspects of it, anyway. You see, all my life I've been struggling with my weight. I could never fit into my older sister's hand-me-downs as a kid (and that was pointed out quite often, given our financial hardship), and even now, as a Zumba Fitness instructor and careful eater, I still have trouble losing a pound. My husband gives up desserts and loses ten pounds without really thinking much about it. He admits he would have given up years ago if he'd seen as little progress as I have in trying to lose weight.
Yet I've seen the same sort of success in my writing. (Translation: not bloody much). I've sent out tons of queries and received nearly as many rejection slips (nearly as many only because many agents and publishers don't send replies if they don't like something). Not a single request for more material. My plays have been only slightly more successful, only because I've been pretty lucky to find places where I can do a staged reading or get some great feedback.
So why do I do this? People have asked me why I don't just give up. Why continue to do Zumba if it doesn't make the pounds drop off the way it seems to for everybody else? Why keep writing if I don't sell any novels?
I see the rational basis for this. It is logical. But it errs because it's based on an assumption which simply isn't true: it assumes I do these two things only because of the outcome I'm hoping for.
I know many who do. I know all sorts of people who try Zumba--or vegetarianism, or some diet fad--only because of the outcome they hope for. I know writers who are only concerned with completing a novel so that it can be marketed.
They and I do not work towards the same ends. Or perhaps, for me, the ends simply aren't as important as the act of doing. Why do I do Zumba? Because I adore Zumba. It is more fun than I have doing any other physical activity. It fills me with joy, fosters in me a belief in my own beauty and sexuality, frees me like nothing else does. The act itself is fantastic, no matter its outcome.
The same goes for writing. I don't write to finish. The process is what matters. Writing is my therapy, my shy chance to speak, the who I am in a long list of whats. It's part of my chromosomal make-up, and the only frustrating parts of it include not making enough time for it and not being as good a writer as I would like. But writing is bliss. Sheer bliss.
I suppose the title is a lie, then. I don't have to be patiently waiting for the outcomes I would love to happen. I'm delirious in the moment, charged with energy and elated by the passion of these two activities. I'm not really waiting patiently for anything. It's already here.
Where do you find your joy? Do you hold onto this, or does the outcome matter more?
"i am somewhat impatient, but i know that the game will be loaded soon"
It made me think so much of my own life--well, two aspects of it, anyway. You see, all my life I've been struggling with my weight. I could never fit into my older sister's hand-me-downs as a kid (and that was pointed out quite often, given our financial hardship), and even now, as a Zumba Fitness instructor and careful eater, I still have trouble losing a pound. My husband gives up desserts and loses ten pounds without really thinking much about it. He admits he would have given up years ago if he'd seen as little progress as I have in trying to lose weight.
Yet I've seen the same sort of success in my writing. (Translation: not bloody much). I've sent out tons of queries and received nearly as many rejection slips (nearly as many only because many agents and publishers don't send replies if they don't like something). Not a single request for more material. My plays have been only slightly more successful, only because I've been pretty lucky to find places where I can do a staged reading or get some great feedback.
So why do I do this? People have asked me why I don't just give up. Why continue to do Zumba if it doesn't make the pounds drop off the way it seems to for everybody else? Why keep writing if I don't sell any novels?
I see the rational basis for this. It is logical. But it errs because it's based on an assumption which simply isn't true: it assumes I do these two things only because of the outcome I'm hoping for.
I know many who do. I know all sorts of people who try Zumba--or vegetarianism, or some diet fad--only because of the outcome they hope for. I know writers who are only concerned with completing a novel so that it can be marketed.
They and I do not work towards the same ends. Or perhaps, for me, the ends simply aren't as important as the act of doing. Why do I do Zumba? Because I adore Zumba. It is more fun than I have doing any other physical activity. It fills me with joy, fosters in me a belief in my own beauty and sexuality, frees me like nothing else does. The act itself is fantastic, no matter its outcome.
The same goes for writing. I don't write to finish. The process is what matters. Writing is my therapy, my shy chance to speak, the who I am in a long list of whats. It's part of my chromosomal make-up, and the only frustrating parts of it include not making enough time for it and not being as good a writer as I would like. But writing is bliss. Sheer bliss.
I suppose the title is a lie, then. I don't have to be patiently waiting for the outcomes I would love to happen. I'm delirious in the moment, charged with energy and elated by the passion of these two activities. I'm not really waiting patiently for anything. It's already here.
Where do you find your joy? Do you hold onto this, or does the outcome matter more?
Friday, May 27, 2011
Move Me
Patience is a virtue
I don't have
Give me a plot that moves
A conversation that brings up something new
Or lose me
Make characters change
The world
Themselves
The inner workings of my brain
Or I'll move on
Grow
Or help me grow
Beyond the confines I am used to
Or I will finish up your book
(If I finish it at all)
And sigh
Well
That was
Okay
But
Nothing
Really
Happened.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Not So Fast
Not a quick step
Confident
Resounding on the hardwood floor
To let them
To let myself
Hear the movement forward
Not a rocket
Shooting off
Inspired
On fire
Turning out the pages
Faster than I can count
Not the NASCAR racer
Tearing up the track
Passing all
As if they were
Standing still
Watching in awe
As I pass
No
Much as I would like it
My toes are only inching forward
Wheels turning slowly
A snail
Leaving a perfect trail
Of neatly ordered
Slowly formed
Through intense pressure
Stones
Perhaps someday
It'll be a diamond
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)