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Pain is a strange thing. It seems like a phenomenon of sensation, and yet can leave your entire being exhausted in all ways. I am very tired lately.

I’ve always been the type of person who was looking forward, frustrated with the present, leaning against its bonds towards the future. I rarely remain content for long. A day is a long time, for me.

These two odd thoughts combined earlier today, as I overheard someone on a child’s show the kids were watching talking about how Beethoven, as he lost his hearing, used an ear horn sometimes, and composed beautiful music. And I thought to myself, What wonders might Beethoven have created if he’d never lost his hearing?

I didn’t think of symphonies. I thought of nothing, of mediocre work and a forgotten name. I wondered if it was the very loss of that most essential function that pressured him to create, in a fast and furious manner, everything he could before it was too late. That his intensity was somehow fueled by the inevitable loss of the sense he might have valued above all others.

Without deafness, would he have been nearly so driven? So creative? So brilliant?

I don’t know.

People wait for a catalyst to come along, for a sign, or inspiration. I’ve been waiting for mine for a long time, and some things have happened lately that scared me, left me thinking it could be too late already. I’m not dying, but then, neither was Beethoven.

I’ve always sold the creative part of me short, after all, it can wait, right? The house needs to be clean, I have to get to work, and the kids need lunch. It’ll still be there when I’m done, waiting. In the way of women the world over, my essential needs come last on the list. It’s a problem I’m working on.

So now we will see – does it go on waiting forever?

Stage Fright

I suffer from terrible stage fright, though it is inversely proportional to my knowledge of a subject. Of course, as I get older and learn more, I’m realizing that I know far less than I thought…

My fear carries over to my writing. I cover the page or screen as people walk by, no matter what I am writing and regardless of how well they know me. I’m not sure what I’m afraid they are going to see, but there it is. And so the point of this blog is to let go of fear, and start publishing small collections of words, in hopes that I will find the courage to make public much larger works.

Thus I begin my garden.


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