Swimming in the Syrup, Grabbing for Minnows

All---

School of minnows, image from NOAA

This is not whining.  This is not complaining.  This is  just me, describing what I see, as I sit here at the bottom of this goldfish bowl full of syrup, staring at a phantom of the room light, my arms flailing around trying to grasp  at the tails of all the dozens of minnows that are swimming by.  I'm not sure what I want to do with them if I catch them.  Eat them?  Examine them?  Ride them up to the surface?  All I know is that I do want to catch them.  If only I could see them more clearly.  Move my arms more swiftly.  Anticipate their movements as well as I can see the tracks left in the syrup.

But I can't.

And that's what it feels like these days.

If you were to stereotype me as a character, I think one of the main traits you would jot down would be, "curious."  I won't belabor the list of things I've studied, done, or experienced.  There are few things that don't grab my interest in some way, shape or form.  There are few things in the world which don't spark some little bit of curiosity in me.

I don't have a passive curiosity, however.  If you were to jot down a second trait in that notebook, it might be, "driven."  I don't mean that in an Alex P. Keaton sort of way.  Some time ago, a three-trait personality test classified me as a Visionary-Visionary-Visionary.  What all that means is that when I have an interest that captures me, I feel compelled to realize that interest.  I have no static ideas.  Every notion is propulsion.

That can be an amazing thing when you have focus.

Combine that with curiosity, and you're being propelled in a million directions.  Every direction feels mandatory.  Every direction feels important.  Every direction makes sense.

Family.  Work.  EMS.  Teaching.  Anthropology.  Studying Mandarin.  Studying Thai.  Studying Japanese.  Gardening.  Photography.

Oh, yeah.  Writing.

It's a tricky balancing act in the best of times.  When I'm exhausted by work, allergies, or anything else, that's when I end up at the bottom of the goldfish bowl, grasping at minnow tails.

I used to stress about it.  I don't stress about it as much.  I know it's how I am, and beating myself up over it isn't going to help. Instead, I get this restless feeling as my mind races in too many directions, desperately begging me to keep up.  Feeling restless doesn't help combat exhaustion.

The downside?

When work is going crazy or my allergies are kicking my butt -- or both -- the writing  slows down too much for my own taste.  My brain just can't stay in multi-direction over-drive.  And, please understand, it's not about task discipline; it's about what all the corners of my brain are doing.  Five or six streams of thought are okay.  Full steam ahead?  Harder, but maybe okay.  Unfiltered and overlapping?  Unmanageable.

The upside?

My writing and my authorial voice directly reflect this personality.  My writing is voice-heavy and driven.  My narrative is multi-stream.  My stories often reflect the reification of some philosophical idea.  Everything that distinguishes my writing (whether you like it or you hate it) can be credited to (or blamed on) my curious, driven brain.

Happens a lot doesn't it?

The things which make the going tough also give our particular way of going its unique charm.

If only I could see those minnows a little more clearly, move my arms a little more swiftly...

.Nevets.