Inspiration or Lack Thereof

I am finding it hard to focus creatively, weighed down by a cowardly feeling always lurking in the shadows beyond the reach of my understanding. Trading in the suffocating tranquility of upstate New York for the chaos of the concrete jungle and its ever-present noise has not been as beneficial as I first imagined. Day in and day out, I stare at my pens collecting dust and wonder what, if anything, I'm missing out from the world of the muses. I have stopped trying to find reason in my exclusion from their visits, though I find myself looking back at the days and nights they came to me in droves, each carrying a vision as unique as the tales they inspired.
Maybe one day they will return or, maybe, they have found another door whose hinges exhibit not the slightest spot of rust and whose hinges glide without complaint. I work hard at preventing myself from anger and frustration...from throwing in the towel and heading back East. I've bared my pride for picking, and my skin hangs on my bones like a dejected soul.
Soon - I hope sooner- they will come back with tales from lands further away. They shall tell of new faces, new heavens, and new hopes. They shall have new expectations, too, so I have to get better at transcribing what their eyes had beheld. Then, and only then...

Random Rant

Baltimore Inner Harbor and Downtown
view from on top Federal Hill

The world is full of beautiful people and it's easy to misjudge where to allocate your affection...there is mass confusion as throngs mistake lust for love and tears create trenches on disfigured cheeks...where once was beauty now lies experience as life, in its infinite giving, bestows upon the being the gift of sight...many- still- shun the gift and continue stumbling in the same rut, unable to escape the folly that grasps them with a soft, iron hold...whether that is faith or hope or a concoction of both, I don't know...but I certainly have been known to sit and stare, wondering what, if anything, I would do in such a situation...wondering what I did in that situation. 

The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein

While I was unpacking and setting up the office in my new apartment, I came across "The Giving Tree" by Shel Silverstein. It took me back in time, standing in front of twenty pairs of anticipating six- and seven-year olds, wondering why I couldn't read the simple children's book without tears pooling in my own eyes.
The book is about a tree, a boy, and their relationship over time. It is about longing and desire, pain and selfless love. It is about giving every ounce of yourself and never losing sight of why you gave in the first place. But, it's also about realizing that, in the end, all the things you strive for might not hold as much promise as you put in them.
The tree, as the title implies, is a giving one, and it gave everything of itself from leaves to make a crown to fruit to eat to its trunk to make a boat for the boy to attempt to run away from his misfortune. Finally, however, the boy comes back a changed being. He wants nothing more from the tree- which is a stump now- but to sit and rest his weary bones. "'Well,' said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, 'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.' And the boy did. And the tree was happy."
So, what is it about this simple, children's book that makes it hard to read without lumps forming in one's throat? It might be that, as I sat looking at its words and pictures, I wondered back over my own life. Pursuing what I thought would make me happy, overlooking people I shouldn't be, and garnering possessions in hopes of reaching the plateau of happiness and success. I realized who the "giving" trees were in my life and how ashamedly-similar the boy's actions were to mine. Maybe- just maybe- that's why the book has such an impact on me...in it are painful lessons for me...lessons, but also a warning to pay more attention to those who matter most and reciprocate their selfless love.
Instead of storing the book on the bookshelf, I put it on my desk, there to always act as a reminder whenever I begin to sweat the small stuff. There to remind me that life shouldn't always be about taking...that the source of giving is more important than what is given. To remind me to cherish the source and not the gift.
The lessons of the story might have been lost on my young class, but, I'm sure, with time they, too, will come to understand. Until then, whenever I get a chance, I will read them the story in hopes that if any of them is ever at the same juncture in life as I am, the book's magic will work for them, too. Then I'll be happy.