“But Mr. Helicopter Pilot, we just wanted to be better writers!” I hear my voice, recorded as I sat in the tall grasses of a Central California meadow.
I wanted to record a livestreaming video while standing in the orange orchards. So many people who watch my periscope videos didn’t know what orange trees were like. Earlier streams of almond trees had been a big hit: at least from my perspective.
The road bent in an unfriendly way and there was no parking available near the orange orchards, so I found myself turning down a not often driven road and still had no decent citrus vantage points.
This place, though, had wildflowers and tall grasses.
Tiny purple flowers and even tinier though tall and spindly yellow flowers.
I got out of my car and looked a bit and spotted a purple stalk of a flower out on its own amongst tall grasses.
“What a beauty,” I thought to myself, “and I almost missed her!”
This is a common theme in my life: almost missing something super cool that I finally notice because I’m alert to life at precisely the right moment.
I knew I would have to get super close again to get a decent Instagram photo since I was live streaming about Instagram and writing. I wasn’t so sure about this, though, because there were tall grasses and every person who grew up safely tucked into cities knows tall grasses and the great outdoors mean one thing: rattle snakes.
In retrospect the more likely place for rattle snakes is in the canyon under a rock, but nonetheless, I was briefly afraid of encountering a rogue snake while tromping through the grasses as I photographed more flowers and talked about writing.
I had to walk in and out of the place where the lone flower bloomed several times, carefully plodding along the places where I had previously bent grasses with my selfishness. No rattlesnakes, no crazy bug infestations, no rabid squirrels waiting to bite me and give me the plague.
Just a lone lupine, a flower that felt so exotic and now I realize they are plentiful in their sacred uniqueness. I learned this as soon as I got to the door of my car and looked across the way.
Right on the edge of the road, more lupine. No tall grasses to conquer, no fear of rogue rattlesnakes or rabid rodents. I laughed, again, like you will hear me laugh on the recordings I’ve left as a reminder that yes, I am as silly as I appear.
Before I started my car I was reminded of a second truth on my never ending quest to become a better writer: “Stay alert to what is right in front of you” and “whatever you find, whenever you find it, is absolutely perfect.”
Goodness knows if I’m not having a good time, I don’t want to bother. It is up to me to create adventures and games and giggle my way through my creative process. Why else would I write about being a better writer using Instragram and Twitter when I could say it some other, less… quirky way?
I find the challenge of steering clear of rattlesnakes and rodents to make for more intriguing theater – in words or on a stage. Because certainly you and I will remember these stories more than a dull textbook style dissertation on concise writing or the constant assertion to “stay in the present moment.”
What keeps us more alert, a possible poisonous bite or a book-on-tape we listen to driving to and from our nine-to-five gig?
Here’s the trick: stay alert to the wonder of what is right in front of you as you drive to and from your nine-to-five gig, as you answer your four-year-old’s eighty-seventh “Why?” of the day, as you take the most recent harangue from your boss, spouse, supposed best friend.
If you can stay alert to the wonder of what is right in front of you in all circumstances, you’ll go a long way with your writing. In no time at all, your car may pull up to mine and we can investigate the not-so-lone and still magically pretty purple lupine, dancing in the grass against the backdrop of the Southern Sierra mountains.
I’m looking forward to seeing you.
(Take a moment to watch the video that inspired this blog post)
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