Why Walk in the Park?: On Creativity

Every time I sit at my computer and tell myself, “you will blog” nothing comes to mind.

While this is not (or shouldn’t be) a shock to many of my bloggers out there it’s particularly vexing to me. What is this inspiration that I’m constantly seeking that I can never find that just sort of “appears” every now and then? Why can I write a whole series and then, out of the blue, shut down and have the most stifling writers block imaginable?

The basic question that this poses is: What is the nature of imagination or creativity? Surely there have been numerous writings and studies on this but, as I have yet to read them, you must pardon my uninformed opinion. How can I begin to look at this? Oh the possibility.. Can a single event have such a profound affect on someone as to spark a combustion of ideas? (Stop screaming at me, I know the answer is yes, may I be contemplative for a minute? Sheesh.)

In recent, I’ve tried to recreate these events. To create inspiration. I’ve tried everything cliche: walking through the nighttime streets, staring out of the window.. basically, if you can find it in song lyrics there’s a strong possibility I’ve done it. I’ve even attempted the Philosophical reflection pose..
(Not sure what that is? See this video. No, I won’t give a time where the pose is located. It’s an enlightening lecture everyone should see.)

At this point, I’ve completely lost track of my blog. That’s just it though. The imagination is so circular that what I was thinking five minutes ago may not be what I’m thinking right now. So is that creativity? To be able to fuse seemingly disparate ideas together into some comprehensible form (or even fuse them together period)? If so, what in the nation did I walk through the park for?

Wishing you all a lovely Valentine’s Day.

(Disclaimer: This post is unedited. Stop judging me.)

New Year’s Beauty

Walking up the cold stone steps to school, all bundled up, the boy was ready. It wasn’t snowing but the wind was still biting cold. Just one half of a day left before winter break. Oh the possibilities! His mind raced with the things he wanted to and would do (as well as the things he would tell his friends he did when he got back). He would go snowboarding and play video games. Go to parties and meet new girls. This would be his break to enjoy. But as time passed and he continued along his path to school, his opinions began to differ almost as the break running the new year – he would change.

No this was not an unwanted change, this was a change that occurs (or, people say will occur) in every person at the dawn of a new year. A change towards a more ethical being, a more perfect you. What would be his New Year’s Resolution? He knew it couldn’t be anything simple like to stop cursing, that just wouldn’t make any sense. Who would that really help anyway? This troubled him. That deep pressing trouble in the pit of his stomach. It was eating him from the inside that the rest of the kids already had their goals set. They seemed so simple though, “It’s a new me next year!”

What did that even mean! To them it meant no more this, and more of that. It didn’t suffice for the boy, he needed specificity. He needed something real. To be honest his concern was a bit absurd as he still had roughly three weeks to make a decision. Hell, it hadn’t even been 15 minutes and his anxiousness turned into anxiety. With each step he took through the hall the anxiety built. People rambling about what their holiday plans were and their new gym memberships, “It’s a new me next year!”

As he slid into his first class of the day – the chalky aroma of an entire semester lingering on the board, the smudged transparency illuminating the room – he slunk down into his desk; thinking. This would not be an easy decision for the boy by any measure. This school day was a wash. He walked glumly through the halls saying his final goodbyes for the year to his friends.

Walking home he spotted an older gentleman. He’d obviously been having some trouble with his groceries as there was a slight tear in one bag and he made pause to readjust every so often. As an able bodied young man he saw it as his duty to go and help the man. Prancing across the street barely dodging cars he approached his elder and said “Would you like some help with your bags, sir?” The gentleman seemed relieved. He gladly handed two bags over and they proceeded towards the mans house. It was a large establishment uptown not too far from where the boy stayed, himself. They had a fruitful conversation the entire way. The conversation was largely one-sided but the boy didn’t mind – after all, he had manners. They arrived at the house. “Here you are, sir” the boy said as the man opened the door, walked in, and he handed him the groceries. The boy departed.

Such a simple task yet so enriching. The boy felt great about himself as he held his head high walking back towards his home. The air, though frigid, was crisp. He’d walked three miles already but he didn’t mind. He had a living resolution.