When you’ve unearthed the seeds of hope from your grave of doubt and despair, what will you plant for a ripe future?
I’ve been thinking again. With as much thinking as I do, I’m clearly anxiety-riddled or meant to be a philosopher. I know the former as truth and not so much the latter. Although I poeticize and philosophize quite often, I’m not inclined to think and orate on my thoughts professionally, at least when it comes to philosophy. Give me a good book and just one other interested party and I’ve got my soapbox.
I’m in the middle of a whole new series of ideas, some of which are ripe and plump, ready to be plucked and harvested. Others are wrinkled, dripping to the point of fermentation. Some others are sour, too late to good for anything until their dried out to season another idea. Still, some others are at the pique of their picking time. They’re ready to be casked and distilled at a later date. Some of those “saved for laters” will be shipped off to others via the Eudaimonia Express on the Creativity Highway. Some will collect dust and appear, miraculously, at the end of a celebration after all the lesser ideas have been sipped away.
Today, I did the first adult thing I’ve done in a while. I signed my lease for my first house since college. Unlike my peers in undergrad, I lived on campus all four years. Free room and board are one of the financial incentives for working as a community advisor. When I graduated college, I moved back home with my parents. I needed to figure out where I was headed next and had no money to do this with. I returned to my nest and settled in with my already developed wings.
I was having one of those fantastic 2:00 a.m. conversations in which existed equal parts delirium, exhaustion, and enlightenment. Inspiration strikes whenever it so pleases, despite circumstance or present company. I’ve found my best ideas in the midst of conversation. I’ll have you know of the inconvenience this causes. Imagine you’re talking to anyone, about anything, when you’re suddenly sparked to write the opening lines of a poem you know will be gone. Imagine a business concept you never bother to research because the unique strategy you pictured vanished from your mind.
I’ve got quite a few goals for this year. To prevent inundating myself with all of them, or letting my fantastic ideas smother one another, I’ve incorporated a planner. It’s specifically designed to help you map out your passions. As I have many of these, it seemed appropriate. Now, I’m not that organized. I haven’t fastidiously used a planner since grade school. Of course, assignments were much easier to remember then.