I Don't Feel Like Writing

I have the time to write. I just don’t feel like it.

Sometimes, somewhere, something would tickle my fancy and write. Might be something I found on someone else’s blog, or some comments somewhere that would make me think about it.

No I’m not running out of thoughts, however stupid or brilliant they can be. I am just running out of the will to write.

Like some bloggers out there, I don’t just want to write for the sake of putting something on my site. It would not only bore the handful readers I have, I would bore me. Not that I am interesting to start with.

It is not writer’s block. I simply call it “writer’s lack”.

Not the lack of ideas. Believe me, most great writers can write anything out of nothing. It is the lack of will, the absence of the drive to do something. That is what’s bugging me lately. I had no will.

My life had become that of a pendulum swinging on its sides. Yes, there is constant activity, but it had become a repetitive motion. I just swing back and forth, left and right, right to left, waiting, waiting. Waiting to do what? I just don’t know.

While the pendulum swinging of course has a purpose, it is but to keep moving until gravity can no longer support the swinging. Time would never stop. And it would never stop swinging. Until some outside force would prevent it from doing so.

I would be swinging back and forth, looking back at the same old clock over and over. Though I know for certain that it never would, I kept on waiting for the time to run out, anxious of the inevitable outcome.

For now, I just don’t feel like writing.

The View

The view from above was magnificent.

From the north, I can see Mt. Rainier in all of its majesty. Its top is covered by a giant halo of clouds. Like a huge puff of smoke trying to cover what lies beneath its slopes. The horizon is like an endless sea. While most of it is just water, still I could almost touch the edges of the earth and squeeze it at the palms of my hands.

The outward view is an infinite shade of blue. I can see nothing but an endless sky stretching towards space into God knows where.

Looking downward is quite different.

Contrary to what I usually see from a commercial airliner, where one can see what would normally look like lay-outs of a distant city, I now see the whole city differently.

It was like a new life form in itself. From a distant view from the plane you could see the movements of the city itself, without the sounds that usually come along with it. With its bustling freeways, buildings that looked like doll houses, football fields that looked like a well-maintained yard. People walking in the park, running and walking to and fro, are just like tiny characters in an animated movie. It was sure fun to watch.

Here I was, swimming with the clouds, along the skyscrapers and the tall downtown buildings. I hopped from one rooftop to the next. I can see the bridge that was so enormous but from my now vantage point looked just like an array of mismatched matchsticks. The rail tracks are like fresh scars on the earth’s skin. I could see a glint of sunlight reflecting from the opera house shaped like dough that is about to be baked.

The view from above was peaceful yet deceiving.

From here, you cannot see the homeless people rummaging through the trash bins for food. You cannot see the injustices one human does to another. You won’t see the faces of people anxious about their futures. One cannot see how people kill each other. From here, I cannot see Russia. And I couldn’t figure out why Sarah Palin could see it from her house.

Worse, I cannot see my own self.

Perspective. If I could look at my life differently, I’ll probably see it in a much better perspective.

Sitting from the backseat of this seaplane, I looked at the city below me and the vastness of the sky above us. I cannot help but think of how a complicated thing such as a huge busy metropolis can also be simple when viewed at a different angle. No matter what we do, no matter what I do, it does not matter anymore.

No matter how complicated things could become, no matter how gloomy or huge I or everyone else think the future is, in the bigger picture of things, somehow it does not matter.

We will always be just as insignificant as a microscopic dust relative to the unknown cosmic universe that lies beyond the clouds above me.