Electricity
Today the energy at work is electric. Like walking into a Christmas morning right
before everyone settles in front of the tree to open presents. Except we get to open the doors and catch a
glimpse of what will be unwrapped in two days’ time. In spite of the stress and anxiety about what
to do and how to handle what’s coming, there are a lot of smiles.
I came back to my desk and thought about the flip of the
coin from the news just over a year ago… and the culmination a few months ago …of the closing of Higgins. I’m not going
to dwell there very long, but just acknowledge the heartbreak and sadness that
inevitably caused.
It’s probably one of the most cliché things to notice, the
fact that there are two sides to everything.
At least two. A lot of times,
perspective is more like a prism, and the reflection you observe is entirely
dependent on the light with which you see it.
Of course, if you sit in the darkness, that prism is just another rock.
I don’t know if this is the consequence of trying to listen
more… or the sensitivity that comes from an observation of myself… but I do
notice how unnecessary negativity is these days. How, why it is all well and good to show
oneself isn’t a fool by demonstrating snarky cynicism, it actually casts a
shadow between the light and the prism, eclipsing the colors.
Don’t get me wrong. I
am still very cynical. Especially about
all things Disney and major league sports and how they distract us from real
issues and problems – not to mention the real life problems they create. But as I find myself reeling from a
discussion or two where I was declared naïve for being a Pollyanna, I ask
myself if pointing out my disdain with things that don't make me personally happy is really an indication of human empathy or just
being a cranky bitch.
I suppose you have to have a little of both to keep perspective. But choosing to see the good in what can be
plainly described a bad situation just makes life… easier… fun… so much less
miserable, which oddly enough makes being positive much less of an effort.
Case in point. Last
night I was at the Worcester Writers Collaborative Tuesday writein. I have been pushing myself out of a very
pathetic writers’ block. I wanted an infusion of creativity, so I (shamefully)
blew off another commitment to go there.
When I arrived, I found that a Paint Night event had overtaken our
regular hanging out space. We still
managed to garner enough tables for appropriate surface area, but still had to
deal with louder than necessary music and eye roll provoking instruction that
made me look up from my pages more than once.
At night’s end I found out some people were mocking the
artwork. I wasn’t exactly the most
appreciative of the intrusion throughout the night, but I realized how foolish that
was. Maybe it was the distracting music
that made me focus more, so that I not only finished a scene - but also pushed
through a handwritten new scene, a productive and necessary conversation
between characters that sets in motion a resolution this novel really
needed. Creativity win #1.
Creativity win #2.
The room was full of people just doing it. Like Nike implanted in our brains. So what if Paint Nights don’t produce the pieces
that might hang on the walls of my workplace?
A room full of (mostly women) were doing it – whether as a lark, a
social thing, or maybe a dare to put paintbrush to canvas and just do something
artistic. Something that isn’t staring
at a cell phone or brainless reality television or shopping at Walmart. And there we were with them and the Scrabble
players, filling the air with imagery and words and art.
Thinking about it that way reframed the whole evening from a
disappointment, which it most certainly was not, to one of pride. Pride in the ability to be part of that
simple atmosphere. Pride in that I live
in a city where that is possible.
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