Than Knowledge

Lately, I’ve been into a TV show call Reba. It’s about a single mom who works too hard. Who loves her kids and never stops. She’s gone through divorce. She has a pregnant teen. It’s a very real and heartfelt show where the characters love each other enough to get mad and work it out. The other night, I watched an episode where the pregnant teen’s husband was worried that their daughter was behind in intelligence because he’s “not the sharpest tool on the chandelier.” He admitted that it took him until he was five years old to learn to tie his shoes.

It’s revealed that he took so long to learn to tie his shoes because every time he would start, the bunny going down the rabbit hole, suddenly became a rocket ship or his shoes became racecars. His imagination would go wild. He probably went off on a lot of adventures that not a lot of people understood.

The scene reminded me of the quote by Albert Einstein: “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” This was always a quote I held onto, because I, too, am not the sharpest tool on the chandelier. I like to write. I like to paint. I like to imagine and create things. Follow stories and use them to create my own adventures. I was the kid in class doodling and not paying attention because I was more interested in my imagination. I’m a creative, and lately, I’ve been forgetting that.

Everyone is different. All children develop in their own time, their own way. Maybe intellect is your thing and you can memorize the periodic table. Maybe you’re more attuned as a dreamer or maybe your a bit of both. Regardless, the world needs all of us. I believe that opening our minds with imagination can rocket us into great things.

Pumpkin Sunrise

A soft fog layers the streets. The chill of night dampens your jacket and courses a shiver down your spine. As you head to your car, a streak of black catches your eye. You turn your head in time to see the silhouette of a cat dart under a streetlight. You dig your keys out of your pocket and avoid touching your misty door handle to spare yourself from the chill of the metal as much as possible.

The world is silent as you pull out of the parking lot. The hazy glow of your headlights try to pierce through the fog. What once was open with morning light is now smothered by the darkness of early fall.

The world brightens with city lights as you journey your way to work, but the spooky haze has you wondering if monsters will come from the fog. You lock your doors just to be sure.

The highway is when the rain starts. A few drops. You barely notice it at first. Yet, the fog starts to clear. A soft sheet of rain. You know as the kind to ice over in the winter and you’re thankful the season hasn’t shifted that far yet.

A long and winding road, through this hazy mist of rain. You realize after a time that you’re finally able to see the sky. A blanket of dark clouds that stretch to the horizon. Yet, the light of dawn finally peeks through. A line of orange light greets you as you reach the top of a hill. Despite the eerieness of the earlier morning, you find yourself smiling. Orange light capped by dark clouds. You decide the sky itself is getting into the enjoyment of fall. Pumpkin, you decide. A soft pumpkin sunrise.

Burnout

Head in hand

Elbow on knee

All you want is to go back to sleep

Feeling charred

Feeling chipped and cracked

Like the waning moon,

You want to fade to black

A busy day

Then a busier day

And one more (for good measure)

It doesn’t seem to end

Tasks stack up continuously

But the time to do them never changes

Head in hand

Another day starts

The preparation takes too long

Time slips away

Yet you find your cares are already gone

Another busy day

You’re still crisp from the day before

You try to muster a care

But life feels more like a chore

A struggle just to survive

When you wish that you could thrive

Head in hand

Ashen inside

Elbow on knee

All you want is to sleep

On the Edge of Somewhere

Standing on the edge of somewhere

Looking out at the great unknown

Wondering what’s out there

This somewhere that I stand on

Is the place my journey led to

The path that guides me

It’s hidden where it leads to

This somewhere must be

Where I am supposed to be

Before the path starts a new

There is something I must do

Looking out to the great unknown

A mystery shrouded in clouds

Only one knows where I must go

With a voice opposite of loud

New adventures new journeys

New lessons to be learned

There’s something on the edge of somewhere

That I feel that my soul yearns

So, here on the edge of somewhere

Looking out at the great unknown

I know that what’s out there

Is a place I’m meant to go

I Remind Myself

I remind myself that I am brave even though I’m terrified.

I remind myself that I am strong even though I feel small.

I remind myself that I am fierce despite how I shake on the inside.

I remind myself that I make a difference even though I don’t see progress.

I remind myself that I am kind even though I feel selfish.

I remind myself that I am independent when I feel like I can do nothing.

I remind myself that I am loved even though I feel alone.

I remind myself that I am not forgotten even though I feel invisible.

I remind myself that there is a plan even though I can’t see it.

I am more than how I feel.

Not to Copy

Anyone can be an artist, they say.
Anyone can paint or draw.
It’s all about expressing yourself.
Creating something with your own hand.

It’s not about making a replica.
Taking a photo and creating the same thing.
But taking the inspiration from that photo to create it your way.

I remember in an art class I took.
We were supposed to do a self-portrait.
Everyone looked in the mirror and tried to copy what they saw.
But one guy drew himself as a cartoon instead.

I lost count of how many pictures or images or sights that inspired me.
I always tried to recreate them.
But they never looked quite right.
Take away the image they copy.
And the painting looks like it’s own creation.

We’re not meant to copy.
We’re meant to take something and add ourself to it.

Looking Back

Out of curiousness, I pulled a planner off the wall. People always ask “Where do you want to be in 10 years?” well, I looked back 10 years. What changed? What was I doing?

On September 24, 2015 I was still in college. It was a Thursday, so I had classes: Animal Science and Physics Lab (ew). My notes from that day were very vague. I went to the dining hall, went to class, went to a different dining hall, went to class. Guess I came back to the dorm to study at some point because I had an exam that night. I would consider it a good day since my old room mate who I was having issues with moved out and I got a new one who actually wanted to be friends.

I flipped through a couple pages of the planner to see how life was like back then. Honestly, I’m disappointed in myself for not keeping better record. There’s enough of what I did, but not enough of what I was thinking or feeling which is something I add to my planner these days.

Sidenote for something funny. I found a day I was supposed to be studying physics and I ended up crafting ghosts and mummies instead. I made them out of soda cans and cloth. I bet I still have them somewhere.

Ten years ago, I was studying to become a veterinarian. I wanted to work with exotics, your typical zoo species. Ten years ago, I tried volunteering at my college town’s local zoo, but it never worked out. Ten years ago, I remember keeping my head down in college, just trying to get through it, and life exploded when my roommates changed. Suddenly, there were more people in the dorm, and I was a part of the activities.

I remember praying for something to change. Life with my old roommate…well, it sucked. She would bring boys back to the room and they’d snore like lumberjacks (we were in an all girls dorm btw). She’d come back late at night when I had early class. We never interacted. I would walk to the zoo every weekend just to stay out of the dorm. When I confronted my roommate about her bringing boys back and late nights, she told me to deal with it. I was hating my college experience because of it, and my prayers became more desperate. Days later, she told me she was swapping rooms. I was nervous about a new roommate, but I convinced myself she had to be better than my old one and I was right.

Looking back, I’m glad that change happened. I wasn’t so lonely in college anymore and it led to friendships that lasted even after graduation. I wish those girls well. I hope they’re chasing their dreams, and I hope they’re still as crazy as they were back then.

Looking back, I’m grateful.

The Horizon

The tides are turning
The captain jumped ship
There’s fog on the horizon
And the deck is quite slick

A crewmate holds the rail
Trying to hold in their supper
Someone’s on the crow’s nest
Someone’s cleaning out the scupper

The sails are set
But the compass just spins
No one knows which direction to begin

The tides lurch the ship
Quaking creaks in its haul
You stare down at the water
But it’s nothing but dark below

The first mate’s at the helm
Turning this way and that
Trying to ride the tides
And hold the kraken back

The captain jumped ship
The seas are wide open
You think you’ll finally find your grip
But there’s fog on the horizon

Writer’s Worst Outage

You’re in the thick of it. Writing on your laptop with the scenes dancing around in your head. While midnight creeps upon you, you write the perfect description of a ghost that can control plants. It lives in an eerie forest, mist swirling around. No sunlight shines…ever. The characters are in a distrustful village. They’re not allowed to leave. They’re blamed for a tragedy of history. Envy turned to bloodshed. They have to work else their souls will be taken. An angry village almost takes a knife to a girl’s eyes, he stops, but the girls screams inside. You’re nearing the end of the scene. You’re quite proud of your work, then…

Black.

Your bedroom goes completely dark. You freeze up. Just you and the glow of your laptop–thank God it has a working battery. Your scene is safe, but what happened? Two beeps come from the other room. Your game systems, you realize, turning on after being “pulled” from the power source. A knot tightens in your stomach. The power had gone out. You can’t recall it ever doing this before. So, why? The question allow fears to creep up on you like a silent stalker. Your eyes glance fleetingly to the scene on the page. Ghosts? Thank goodness you don’t have any plants. What about a hidden society come to kidnap you?

When you finally look away from your laptop, you notice it’s darker than usual. All the neighbor’s blinding lights from outside you’ve become used to are black. You twist around for your phone on the nightstand, fingers sliding to find the flashlight. Good. The battery is at seventy. It was smart of you to plug it in. You message family first and hope you’re not alone in the dark.

Where’s your cat? Is the front door locked? It’s not October, but you’ve been in Halloween mode since September started. Was someone going to break in? Was this an elaborate plot by burglars like you’ve seen in the movies? But, you’re not sure what they would steal from you. You’re a writer, after all. Maybe there’s a ghost in the dark of the kitchen? Your home is actually haunted and you’re just now finding out about it?

Or maybe your imagination is just running wild because you’re still in writer mode?

Just to make you feel better, you grab the dagger hidden by your bed. You’d never pull the blade to stab somebody, but the stab of the sheath itself could cause damage. It’s time for bed, you determine. Time to turn writer brain off. With your flashlight and your weapon, you venture to the dark of the front room. It’s quiet, and so dark. No lights from the TV. No light from the stairwell outside. No time of day by the microwave past the counter or the stove in the kitchen. You let your flashlight scan every inch of the rooms. Funny how you were just in here not twenty minutes ago, but suddenly the power goes out and you’re scared to enter. Your light finds the front door. Good. It’s locked. Grabbing a treat to get your kitty to follow you, you lock yourselves up in the bedroom.

An email alerts on your phone. “New Outage.” You can’t help but think of a sarcastic reply. Another message pings. It’s your family, confirming that the whole block was out. Your mind tickles the idea that maybe some crime syndicate was planning a string of burglaries this night, but you remind yourself that your neighborhood isn’t worth stealing from.

With a long breath, you put the dagger away. What a time, you determine. What were the odds that the power would go out while you were writing a scary scene? You tell yourself that you wouldn’t have been so afraid if your mind hadn’t already been focused on writing fear. One last look at the locked bedroom door, and you scroll on your phone for a few minutes just to distract your mind.

“It’s bedtime,” you tell yourself. The power should be back on in the morning. One goodnight kiss to your kitty and you tuck under the covers and wait for dawn.