I have been having trouble finding inspiration to write anything, I have ideas such as a reply to the Forbes article that made me rageful or a commentary on the flagrant sexism that I and a few friends have been subject to in the last few days (one incident involved the word “spank” just to give you an idea of the insanity of the situation at the moment). I decided against writing about these points because they are serious, and I’m not sure I can pull off serious.
I have spent the last week reading–reading books, reading blogs, reading articles–in an attempt to find some inspiration, but instead of finding a way forward, I have discovered that I’m painfully average. Luckily I have enough quirks and personality flaws that life is never boring. This past week, for example, I had a mini nervous breakdown when I came to the crushing realisation that I have no memories between 0 and 6 years of age. While most people would think, “Hmm, I guess I’m a little behind the rest of the world on that one,” that was not exactly my reaction. My overactive imagination and my adamant refusal to be below the curve sent me into a downward spiral convinced that I had repressed memories following some childhood trauma. I spent 2 days trying to remember pets I may have lost or painful memories (think tongue stuck to a frozen metal pole in the winter…in Canada, which is equal parts physically painful and totally humiliating), but with no luck. Once I slept decently for a full night (stupid night time toilet training), I laughed at my own ridiculousness on this subject.
So anyway, this week I have read stories from activists, parents, athletes, business men (you got me, this is the article that made me rageful, it also made me realise that I am so not the target audience for Forbes). I have read stories of great heroism and triumph, as well as failure and defeat, and I have also read quite a bit about nothing in particular, but nothing that was so well written, it gave me hope that maybe there was a little bit of talent in all of us.
After all of this reading, I realised I have no great stories to share, no great moments to put on paper, my life is filled with average everyday events, go to work, come home, take care of small humans, and repeat.
I am average.
But that is okay, and even though I am average I still choose to write.
UNRELATED SIDE NOTE: This is the second time I have written this post because my freaking tablet decided to die on me last night when I tried to publish, losing all my work to that point. Lesson learned: tablet != computer.
RELATED FOLLOW UP QUESTION: What do you like to write about? Read about? Photograph, um, about?
livingwithathreeyearold 