There’s that same thrill of creation almost untempered by technique or inhibition, like in writing a rough draft, except that world building can be as methodical or scattered as you want. As long as you’re focused enough to write notes and stay on pertinent topics, you can get away with it. I spent most of Wednesday measuring out the length of the continent that my stories occur on, equating latitudes between my imaginary places and real ones, which led me to research climate zones, which led me to plate tectonics, which led me to rivers, which led me to medieval sanitation. It’s kind of like that game you would play on Wikipedia whenever the teacher wasn’t looking. You know, the one where you and someone else starts on the same page and then have to get to another objective page as fast as possible by visiting other wikipedia pages. The difference is that there is no one set goal or page to find. There’s a whole slew of them. I’m a bit of a night owl to begin with, but working on my stories is one of the only things that will keep me awake until four in the morning. If it wasn’t for how annoyed my parents get at me for burning the midnight oil I’d probably stay up all night doing this. Maybe this manic drive to explore my subject explains why I like school so much.
Nevertheless, it feels fantastic doing something that I’m passionate about again. I spent most of this last year just trying to get my feet underneath me at UMass and finding that I… didn’t exactly like where I was standing. I spent time writing when I was on holiday and that’s just not enough. For those of you who have something that you truly care about, you know what I mean.
This vast disappointment with my lack of creative work sparked a realization. Well, my disappointment plus my parents’ insistence that I need to lighten up regarding school so that I can relax a little and, I don’t know, go to a party every now and again. Anyhow, I realized that, even if I had a perfect GPA and took twenty-five credits each semester, there is no guarantee that I would graduate at the top of my class. Even if that sort of thing did interest me, that will only be resumé worthy for my first employer. After that potential employers will only care about what sort of payed work I have accomplished. They won’t look at my university GPA. As long as I keep it above a 3.0 I’ll be fine. Instead I’ve been a little OCD about my classes. As much as I hesitate to be clichéd, I’ve been letting myself get caught up in the flow and haven’t had the presence of mind or the will to break out of it to do what matters to me. Sure I like academia, but I’m not going to be in school my whole life and there is something that I like better. I’m not the only one subject to this trend.
Why not spend only an hour on each academic subject and spend the rest of the night doing what you love? If anything, the time you spend refining what you’re passionate about increases the likelihood of you finding a way to make a living at it. Pro athletes need to keep their grades up, but they spend every spare moment that they can steal training. Musicians sing or listen to music while they work and do everything they can to practice or improve. The same goes for any serious dreamer. If your dream and passion is going into investment banking, well good for you! That means that you get to blend your passion with as much academic work as you like while going down a path that will probably land you a job that will pay you handsomely. If I didn’t find things like insurance and office work to be so soul sucking I’d probably go into something like that as a second major myself.
Despite this mad rush to work that somewhat resembles a cocaine addiction, even I recognize that everyone needs a chance to relax and let their brain go dormant for a while. At least, that’s the justification I use when I go meet with friends. I mean, there’s nothing to do in this town so mostly we just walk around and chat. It’s not like what’s drawing me from work is particularly magnetic. Still, it can be fun regardless. The last time we couldn’t think of anything to do my friend and I went to the beach with his younger sister. We walked out onto the jetty and sat on the rocks, looking at the far shore and grey, empty horizon while eating ice cream. It would have been a hypnotizing setting if the wind hadn’t felt like it was visiting from the Yukon. We didn’t stay long. So what did we do? Go to a movie? Fetch a pizza and soccer ball? Chill out in front of the TV? Of course not! We went to the playground at the other end of the beach because you’re never too old to ride a plastic chipmunk.
Oh, and yes, I took that picture from on top of the swing set. Don’t ask me how I got up there. I’m not entirely sure myself. Did I ever mention that I’m afraid of heights?
The next day I was given a refresher course on the difference between activities that are mind relaxing and those that are mind numbing. My parents are members of the town yacht club (apparently owning a boat is not a prerequisite) and they took me to a couple of events including a new members mixer… thing. Anyhow, I only went because there was the promise of food and the possibility of discovering someone my own age, a rarity in this town. I should have expected that everything they were serving was seafood and that no one my age in their right mind would willingly attend such an event. It’s just a bunch of people getting together and talking about boats or their families. I was out the door five minutes after I walked in and proceeded to wander around the village for the next hour or so. Indeed, I preferred limping around aimlessly to staying in that nautical den.
Note to Self: Never go to another yacht club event without bringing some sort of notepad and writing/sketching utensils.
The only good that came out of these events for me was that my parents and I went to a workshop for designing a “burgee” to represent our family, except that instead of making a little flag we were painting a plaque, or planning to anyhow. That wooden plaque would be hung alongside the couple score of others that line the wall just underneath the club’s ceiling. Each picture and its symbolism is supposed to be unique and the function of a burgee is to identify the owner of a boat, as I understand it. So, bright eyed and bushy tailed, we went to this next event, each with some ideas of how we wanted to represent ourselves and we could not agree on a damned thing. Of course, we’re too polite of a family to openly say that we didn’t like each other’s designs.
“Well…” My father looked at a draft that I’d sketched up at their behest a few years before. We’d been meaning to do this for some time. “It looks nice, but a burgee is supposed to fly from the mast of a ship and be identifiable from miles away through a telescope. I think this one’s a little complicated.”
“Yeah, but we aren’t actually getting a flag,” I pointed out, “so we can do anything with the design that we like.” Besides that, one of the other club members said that a good number of these people use their burgee as a family crest of sorts. Looking around, I did happen to notice a few old heraldic crests from the late middle ages that families had inherited. Apparently some of these people even have those crests waving on their flag poles at home. I’m rather fond of flags so I got some grand idea of doing much the same and wanted to make a symbol that I would be proud to fly.
“Why don’t we put some sort of music or skiing related thing in there?” My mother didn’t make many suggestions and, of three passive people in the argument, she was the quietest.
“Well, music is kind of important to you and me at least,” I replied, “but it isn’t really integral to who we are. You certainly don’t ski often enough to say that skiing is part of what defines you.”
“I’d sure like to make it what defines me!” We chuckled at that. Mother has been saying for years that if she wins the lottery she’ll buy a ski condo and do nothing else. She wants either that or to be reincarnated as a ski bum.
I kept pushing for symbols involving the law or literature or medicine because, at least for Mother, medicine was part of what had made her who she is. At the end of the night we still had nothing concrete and my father had mostly resigned himself to letting my mother and me decide. He often does this when he’s fed up with indecision. By then he had started insisting that we put a horny toad on the flag to represent our origin in New Mexico and his thorny personality. We went back and I was determined to draft another design and had just finished the basics of a horny toad holding a plume quill pen when I realized that, yet again, I was allowing myself to do what was expected of me rather than writing. Not just the sketch, but the whole business. Whoops.
It’s easy to get lost in a sketch and, long after I’ve graduated high school, I now understand the appeal of doodling in class. That kind of distraction does help alleviate stress and fatigue for me, even if I’m no good at it. The danger of any of these relaxing pastimes, recharging the batteries or not, is that they can prove too relaxing and consume all of the free time you need for working.
I could equate this whole issue to a battle in my mind, but anything can be equated to a battle, so this isn’t the most imaginative analogy. Anyhow, the frenzy will drain you and if you push yourself too far you will be ineffective and could even get yourself hurt. When you reach that point is when you should retreat and lay down your sword and shield until you are recuperated. If you wait too long and hide in the rear lines as the battle progresses, however, you will miss your opportunity to strike and turn the tide in your favor.
One of my favorite quotes about this is popularly attributed to Gothe: “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it! Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.”
I’ve got that quote sitting on a shelf above my desk, staring at me every morning and prompting me to action. Of course this is all easier said than done. That quote has been there for so long that it has become a part of the scenery, but every now and then the message sinks in. Every now and then I remember that, if anyone is going to claim their fate, they need to take the reigns and spur their mount in a cavalry charge of one against societal expectations, distractions, and their own inhibitions. Maybe that charge that you need to make every day, that little rally kindling the longer struggle, is enough to break the enemy lines and reach your goal. You never know until you mount up though.
Song of the Week: This is a pretty well known song I know, but it’s
really applicable for this entry. Also, I’ve been on a big RWBY kick, so
it was either something from that show’s soundtrack or this. Besides,
this song’s a load of fun!
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