Feeling It

I started writing this post at 2:50 with plans to furiously tap my keyboard, add some pictures, and hit publish by 3:30. It's 4:15 4:54 5:28 now. Between then and now, I got distracted -- played chord progressions on my brother's guitar, looked at every picture in my phone's gallery, went out for Mexican food with my sister, and now I'm in the public library.

Really though, I went to write several times today but I didn't really feel it.

I like the way it feels when I'm inspired to write. I like to wash dishes when I'm in the mood -- I love the way hot water suds when you add one drop of soap. Or forcefully scrubbing mad circles on the bathroom floor because, at that moment, the world will not go on until my knuckles are bleach burned and that tile is spotless. I love to cook when the kitchen is clean, music is playing, my hair is tied back, and I'm two seconds away from texting all my friends and telling them how much I love them. I like to dance when the roof is on fire.

But there are things we have to do regardless of whether we feel like it. Wake up to 6 AM alarms, go to school, take the trash out, solve quadratic equations. But to feel it? To act on a burst of inspiration that makes us breathe deeply, think, sing, smile, write, run; it's so different, A moment of that kind of passion accomplishes far more than hours of robotic output. And when you feel it, the outcome is a million times more glorious.

My friend Kimberly and I have been talking about "feeling like it" a lot this week. It came with its drawbacks ("sorry ma'am, I know that project was due on Monday but I'm not really feeling it yet.") but I've arrived at the conclusion (justification) that feeling it is powerful, and the rewards are huge. 

I find myself feeling that Come Alive-ness more often now. Maybe it's experience or conditioning or actively seeking it, but I'm constantly craving inspiration and an adrenaline rush wherever and whenever I can find it, because I know what it's like to have it. And I want more of it. It's why I go on the biggest roller coasters and swim so far out into the ocean that when I go to put my feet down onto something solid, my stomach drops when there's nothing there and I realize that I'm the only person past the point where the waves crash over your head. It's why I spin in the sand and climb rocks at midnight and sing in guitar class. It's why I wear red lipstick and dresses and go to art walks and hum every second of the day, why I hang twinkling lights around my bathroom mirror, why I blister myself on hot glue guns, and why I close my eyes and almost cry when I'm listening to live music.

There. Now for the weekend.

We had a last minute sleepover where we watched a horror movie and couldn't sleep until we made each other laugh enough to convince ourselves we had forgotten about that movie which "wasn't even scary." Then we woke up and had french toast and bananas and milk and picked Madi up and went to Bates Nut Farm, which, I'm convinced, is the epitome of Fall in Southern California. We had a grand time.

Autumn is treating me well. Have a beautiful week.