The Bug on the windshield

In the ongoing writing this blog I see needing to decide which of a couple of directions to go with it. There are blogs that are really on-line personal journals of very personal thoughts. When I read ones that are right out there and very personal it can seem like I am eavesdropping, though no one could ever have any real expectation of privacy, and am tempted to respond. Sometimes I do and then sometimes I don’t want to reveal I’ve been looking. Sound familiar?

There have been a few times when I have written here from a place that is very raw, very personal and with very little context. Sometimes I have pulled them back to smooth out or just kept them off line because they are too raw.
And there are those that are more distilled. So I guess this is still very much a work in process to figure out where that line and direction is. So with that context I continue to write and explore.

As I have written before, creative writing doesn’t come naturally or fluidly to me and I write more from an inspired moment or theme. I have surprised myself when the words just seem to come out from an unknown source. Lately that source is blocked by so much stimulation coming in that the exits of thought seem to be clogged.

Have you ever had a bug land on your windshield while driving and seen it hold on doe dear life even though your speed is increasing and you can see its body getting a buffeting from the wind? You think how much easier it would be if the bug just let go and got thrown off rather than endure all this. But the bug usually just holds on tight for the ride.

Well I am feeling like that bug on the window. I have an almost total lack of focus caused by multiple work and related issues that are on me, like the wind on the windshield. I hold on tight and try to progress and try to figure it out while the constant buffeting of that wind makes the necessary focus almost beyond my reach. I also control my anger at the greater wind created by the inactivity or foresight of others and my resentment of much of me this wind can consume. How many times I have sat to write or taken my camera out and there is nothing but the barrage of this wind.

As with all forces, this wind will eventually subside and in those moments of calm, as I usually do, I will map a way through. The focus, or lack there of, will be continue to be a challenge to endure but then it is my wandering mind that becomes my greatest source of inspiration.

I will be that bug who holds on to the windshield, arriving in a different place then where I started, probably worn out from the ride. So if my writing slows down it will be because of this wind and it will return when I find pockets those in the wind.