I’ve lost my words as of late. My words visit in a most cyclical manner – because I’m a middle-brainer. Highly technical, analytical things spark my brain and make me feel like fireworks are crackling and popping off inside my head. They bring joy. Things like electricity. And Excel functions. And data analysis. And astronomy. But when the fireworks die down, the creative part of me pipes up. It makes my blood boil and heart swell to the size of a beluga whale in my chest. Words, colors, scenery, and dreams become all-encompassing obsessions that I yearn for in every moment.
It happens in cycles. Left brain then right brain then left brain then right brain. It’s a war inside my head and inside my heart. A bloody war filled with to-do list casualties and lost bucket-list soldiers.
And I’m afraid I’ve lost my words as of late. I haven’t written anything of significance in such a long time that every day, in that place between sleep and awake, I worry for a minute that they’ll never come back. But the fear is unfounded. I know better. I know better than to think that this enormous world, this incredibly, unfathomably enormous world could fail to inspire the words to come back.
It’s the little things that spur the words. My book of lists. A Ze Frank video. The tangled web of disgustingly uncomfortable feelings I get when I try to wrap my head around the concept of vulnerability. The giant, turquoise silverware that hang on my dining room wall. It’s the little things that push and pull on my words. That push and pull and push and pull – generating the most dangerous creative friction hidden in the depths of my brain until all of a sudden, whilst draped in a blanket on my couch, on a lazy Saturday afternoon, something breaks.
And they all come tumbling out of my hands. An uncontrollable burst of the English language, manipulated into sentences that convey thoughts. The uncanny ability to take strings of words that mean so little when all scattered amongst their separate selves – and to weave them into meaningful, powerful, sometimes-earth-shattering, sometimes-not thoughts.
It astounds to me to think that I ever thought I could lose my words forever. They’re potent and ever-present. Just often shrouded in the perils of everyday life. Shrouded in the grocery list, the to-do list, the email to the coworker, that brochure for work, the text messages, the Facebook posts. They’ve always been with me. They’ve just been hiding in the rigamarole of distracting everyday life.
But every once in a while, the words come back. They come back to me. They come back to life. They come back into the light of day. And all is right in the world again.
Until I start missing the other half of my brain. And the cycle starts again.