Ope! There it was. I saw it, just a little bit of joy peeking out from between those majestic, shining, impervious robes of doom and gloom you wear day to day. Yes, it’s true I reply, sheepishly. A little bit of joy came to me and from me on Sunday. Guilty as charged. (Ohh, I think I need to expound on that one privately, boys and girls.)
Anyway! This will be my third year as a rookie NY Jets fan. I started watching them after I heard so much moaning and groaning about this team and what a heartache it is to be one of their fans. Gee, no stretch there, an underdog being drawn to underdogs? I recall a work associate from years ago, real big Cowboys fan, who said, “If you’re gonna be a fan, BE a fan, not just when they’re winning.” Not sure why that struck me back then. Maybe because he sounded sexy as hell on the phone and worked on motorcycles, or maybe it was something the universe intended for me? Today I have only an inkling of what means to be a Jets fan, but one thing I know for sure: They’re in, all in, thick and thin.
I gave myself a great day on Sunday. Haircut. Colored my hair. Bought lots of fresh veggies (ok, and greasy finger food), beer, and set myself up for the game. Not only did I get to watch the whole game, but the Jets freaking won. I spent 4 quarters and a little sliver of overtime watching two teams work hard (and making some questionable plays), noshing, sipping, jumping up and down, hollering, and I didn’t care if they won or lost. I just wanted this thing to myself, this day, a “me” day, to enjoy. I had a JOYFUL day, a HAPPY day, one that felt so alien later when I examined it. Why don’t I do that more often? Oh, Padawan, that’s the question–the rub. The resistance is strong with this one.
Where is my joy, and where is it more often? When was the last time I sang for joy instead of bleating some cathartic, moribund dirge? Or–god–danced? It takes determination and will to want happiness and joy, did you know that? I didn’t, until a friend turned me on to it. I learned it. Then forgot it in the haze of pain. Often. I want to tap into the energy of happiness because I know there’s writing, wordsmithing, in there along with it. How easy it is to succumb to what’s beaten me down for so long, every day, and lose sight of the fact that there is a little bit of light in each day, there for the asking. And if I tap into that happiness, maybe, just maybe, I can share it too– if I am strong enough. Brave enough. Part those impervious robes of doom and gloom long enough to let a beam of light come through? Question marks where I want periods to reign, something solid and sure.
So. What the hell does any of this have to do with writing? Everything. Write if it pleases you, when it pleases you. Create. Use your will above all, beyond all. Fight! Win! Extinguish everything around you that holds your heart and soul down and put wings on words, darling. This means you. Are you all in?