August 21, 2006

I Can't Be Here Now Now. How 'Bout Tomorrow?

Sometimes I stare at a big blank piece of white paper, desperately trying to think of something worthwhile to write. Well, maybe it's not exactly paper, more like a computer screen. And, sure, maybe it's not all white, there's actually a blue strip on top, a little bit of orange, some grey... come to think of it, it's all fairly colorful.

Yeah.... so sometimes I stare at a blank space and I don't quite know how to fill it up. I'll sit there for minutes on end, racking my brain for some wee tidbit of a story that might breed a modicum of intrigue worthy of your attention. But, alas, you could practically hear the tumbleweeds swooshing about and thwacking against the walls of my cranium.

At that point, I sometimes just start typing, if for nothing more than to calm the tumble-swooshing in my mind. Eventually, amidst my random typing some story tends to evolve and I get so engrossed in the story, describing every minute detail, every emotion and interaction, that by the time I come back to my senses I've realized that I'm already three pages into the damn thing. So I bring it to a close. And as I read over what I have regurgitated onto the once white/orange/grey space, I marvel in the fact that I haven't really said a darn thing at all.

My life, it seems, has become a never-ending Seinfeld episode.

Things happen - they're funny, heartbreaking, ridiculous, dramatic, idiotic, overwhelming, underwhelming, midwhelming... all these different things happen, and though they're so tragically meaningless, they tend to draw even me in. I get caught in my very own spider web.

So I keep trying to convince myself that there is brilliance in the minutiae (great word, minutiae... so much fun to type.) I persuade myself that the little things in life are the most important. The little things, I'm convinced, are really the big things. In fact, that's the funny thing about the big things in life; most of the time you don't recognize them as big things until long after they're done. They start out as little things until one day you realize that it's changed your life, which might very will be the definition of a big thing.

Think about it. Each little training day you have seems so meaningless when it's happening. You don't go out on one fifty mile ride and all of the sudden feel like an Ironman. But one day leads to another and one mile stretches to two. And as you're finishing mile one hundred thirty five of a one hundred forty-plus mile day, you realize that all of those seemingly meaningless training days have added up to one big thing. They've changed your life.

I guess all of this gobbledy-gook could make you learn to appreciate the everyday. You know, maybe it could make you sit around and meditate on the breeze blowing through the trees, or treasure in the joy of your every breath. Unfortunately, I barely have the patience for any of that stuff.

The whole concept seems like such a small thing anyway.