What to do when the well runs dryPublished 8:38pm Saturday, March 31, 2012
It has happened. I have run out of things to write about.
I don’t have writer’s block, I don’t feel stressed out, I don’t feel overly happy or sad about anything. I think I am just sort of hanging in abeyance, waiting for the next wave to come on through that stirs up the waters of my life. No waves have come through this week, thank goodness for that, but as a result, I haven’t really had anything interesting happen that seems worthy to write about.
I’ve sat here staring blankly into space; I have surfed the web and even thumbed through a book and magazine hoping for inspiration. Nothing. No spark, no nibble, no tidbit, no nothing. Seems everything is a bit boring.
Then I got to thinking: I wonder how many people think they “know” me because of what I choose to write about every week. I mean, you all certainly have a sense of my parenting style, you know I love my husband and children, I have a funny side and am quite passionate about that which I believe in. But, what about the stuff that really fleshes me out and says a bit of who I am? Well here it is:
My favorite color is red. I have loved it since I was a child and was always afraid to admit it because it was an “angry” color. For me, it was always the color of a heart, the color of my favorite lolly-pop and crayon. Now that I am closing in on 40, I am no longer worried about what people might think. I love the color red.
I don’t have a favorite kind of ice cream. I like them all at different times for different reasons. I think the seasons and my mood affect what I choose. Peppermint stick ice cream in the winter, peach in the summer and strawberry swirl when I am feeling a bit nostalgic for my childhood. Oh, and mint chocolate chip. I do love me some mint chocolate chip, but it has to be green.
My first car was a Chevy Chevette. It was British racing green, had a diesel engine and a standard transmission. I loved it until some doofus drove right into the side of me barreling down the road at 50 miles an hour. Car was totaled, I only needed a Band Aid, gone was my first car.
I love old books. I love them when the pages have that velvet feel to the edges and there is a faint smell of musty old tobacco and old paper to them. It makes the read so much better.
I once was offered a scholarship to play my flute. I declined the scholarship. Probably changed the course of my life in a way I will never quite understand. But, it’s all good. That decision led me here and I love where I am now.
I sing in the shower and I am quite good. However, I cannot sing a note in front of anyone else, I even hum along in church because I am afraid someone might judge me. Wish it was different, but that’s how it is. And, I have the worst stage fright imaginable.
Well, I could go on and on but I hear the pages turning and I am sure your eyes have wandered over to the next column by now. This too seems a bit boring. I promise better for next week, and appreciate the time you spent reading up on me.
As my grandmother used to say, “every day isn’t going to be special and you might get bored, but every day is a gift. You have a lot to be thankful for, Gillian. You woke up on the right side of the grass.”
A Yankee with a Southern soul, Gillian Pollock is a wife, mother of two ever-challenging children and director of Christian Formation at Saint Peter’s Episcopal Church in Washington.