In July of 2001 I wrote, “We’ll never run out of toilet paper! There’re enough self help books out there to guarantee it.”
Goodness…doesn’t give too much credit to Anthony Robbins and the cast of followers seeking the same richness and value in sharing does it?
It was a handwritten expression that served as a guided missile in the way author’s, poets, lyricists, bakers, chefs and other creative’s tend to serve themselves during private journeys through the birth of art.
Your worst critic is always going to be you. Your biggest fan will never be located.
I continued to write, “I can’t publish my thoughts—they’re private one on one escapes from self challenges I’ve conquered.”
Standing where we are today in 2010…it would be fun to have a conversation with the People we used to be. I could speak to the voice planted on the untouched pages of the rings once belonging to a living tree. Me being me and me nearly knowing the 2001 model of me would begin with a full down pour of sarcasm, “My…aren’t we in love with our self…”
To which he’d sharply reply, “I’m serious! As simple as it might seem for me to dip this writing instrument into an ink well each morning at sunrise…to accept it is one thing versus putting it in visible places to be shared. It sets me up for ridicule, embarrassment and the unveiling of who I am behind closed doors and completely covered windows.”
In 2010 I tend to smile more about fear filled word deliveries knowing that once an object, thought or illustration is brought to the surface of reality…it no longer belongs to you. A concept I picked up while spending time with visionary pop artist Peter Max.
The Artist Way’s Julia Cameron paints the picture of always being ready to display your creations not necessarily for monetary value but to teach you how to ignore criticism.
But where does it originate? Criticism is a single word with tremendous weight. Friends are completely open to use it as a spice believing everything’s nice…at least until you’re alone in the car, bathroom or kitchen at midnight shoving spoons full of chocolate into your growling stomach as a way of telling your mind body and soul that you still love it.
The 2001 model of me was written up several times by department heads for not handling criticism in a professional manner. He believed if the dog barks loud enough those pursuing will quickly turn and run. Nine chapters later in 2010 I’ve yet to meet the soul who hasn’t become numb to the word no. What the aggressor really hears is, “Convince me that your project needs to be the most important part on my day.”
The term co-worker should be eliminated from the dictionary and replaced with co-dependent ally.
If only we believed in ourselves…
No political posters seeking you access to an office of importance, no need to be named employee of the month or looked upon as being greater than Hank the honking nose picker in cubical sixteen. Model number 2001 refrained from releasing printed words because he couldn’t handle the thought of having to explain them.
The book he feared came into being five years later. I can’t stand waiting ten minutes for fast food and yet I allowed the 2001 model of me to get by with silly excuses that would’ve torked Peter Max because what you create doesn’t truly belong to you.
As disappointed as I might have been on that July 14, 2001 day…looking back I see the artist, writer or whatever else I can be in as little of time as we’re given elected to soothe his fears by walking into the forest. (That’s what I love about writing everyday…the paths we create make waterways for flow to constantly grow…”
On the 15th he wrote, “Being in the forest gave me an incredible view of the new trees. The forest is starting to rejuvenate and look healthy.”
Don’t know about you but here in 2010 backyard forests or giant wooded areas on mountains that steal angels from Heaven remain a true work of art and I bet not once did it hold back in sharing it’s energy with the 2001 model of me.
The writer began to make fun of himself on the 16th of July, “Is it me who’s beyond weird? I’ve been with me from the beginning. Wait! So have you! Oh little mind of mine, opposites do attract. You’re so open to bringing things to life while I tend to mask those newly released.” The writing instrument is set aside… “You’ve run away! Guess the truth hurts.”
Learn to release what you create. Take notes along the way. Dear Diaries are completely acceptable but it’s more fun when you teach yourself to paint the room. Take a writing instrument and write out what you see, describe where you are to the person that’ll be wearing your shoes many rocks down the bumpy road.
Today October 13, 2010 I sit behind the dusty controls of a radio station board knowing the impact it’ll have on the commercials I’ll begin to produce the moment my fingers stop talking on a computer screen. Nearest my touch is an Amazon Kindle featuring the words of my second book Another 1021 Thoughts. As much fun as it was to reach into a summer’s day that can never to be lived again…I remind Model 2010 that July 14, 15, and 16 were innocent times compared to the events that were set to be unwrapped the moment the calendar read September 11, 2001.
Laying my hands on the Kendle…I suck in a giant lung full of air. I never want to go back to that day unless it’s to be used as a tool to help teach and understand the rivers and lakes that create genuine peace.
Peace begins with learning to communicate. I will always believe in you first…
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
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