And all the wasted night, and empty moments in our lives
Again, my title should not direct you in any route other than the abstract. While I’m sure it can serve as a much larger purpose than a mere blog post title, I will let it remain as a single timeless string of imagery-laden text.
For whatever reason, music has dicated waves of emotions that have swept away my subconscience into a world of turmoil and unpredictability. I’m not entirely sure I even understand what that means. But I trudge along, searching for the answer in places I’m sure it won’t ever turn up, leaving no metaphorical stone unturned.
If you can believe it, it took me four years to write my best article to date. Sure, the content and symbolism incorporated within helps its cause, but it’s the structure in which it was pieced together that I am most proud of. It’s funny, just when you think your creative intuition has abandoned you by the side of the road like an unreliable 1974 ford pickup, it returns, pressing the forefront of your every stroke on the keyboard, gasping for one last ditch effort. In the end, it surprises you. It comes out an abyss you were positive was bottomless, never to be seen again, but brings along with it a renewed hope and inspiration that hey, maybe you do have what it takes to take that next step.
I guess the majority of it remains to present itself, but the notion that it might be there, that it might just be enough to propel you to the next level is rewarding. And exciting. And scary.
For years, I’ve thought that writing for a university newspaper wasn’t a big deal. But I’ve come to realize that what I write is printed in 10,000 copies, and plastered on the Internet for all to see. I’m not saying I’m shaping lives and opinions, but I like to think that in the long run, I’ve produced a few items that have at least got people talking, or thinking. What I’m coming to realize is that I am enjoying one of the most unique and rare experiences of any young journalists’ life.
I get to write what I want, when I want, and in whatever fashion I deem suitable for that week. It’s pretty cool to have that kind of artistic freedom. I know it won’t last forever, and while I may very well be in my last year of the Utopia that is university journalism, I vow to take advantage of it.
I did something tonight that doesn’t happen very often. I took a leap of faith if you will. I wandered as close to the edge of the cliff of life as I could without falling, and let my toes hang over the edge for a brief moment, and then just jumped. Where I’ll land isn’t up to me. How long it will take to hit the bottom or land softly on a cloud of possibility is kind of intriguing, at least in the sense of never knowing what kind of pitch life is going to throw you after such a jump.
I don’t regret it. It was something that needed to be done, and I’m happy I did it, even if for the sole purpose of easing my own scrambled thought process.
OK, I’m getting a little worried now. The printer we are using to produce our first, and quite possibly most important issue of the year is not answering their phone, and subsequently, unable to tell me if there were any problems with the uploading of said issue. I was told someone would be there tonight, despite the holiday, and I’m a little pissed too. The later I have to stay up tonight the more agitated I will be tomorrow - a day in which I have as full a schedule as you can possibly imagine.
So now I wait. For an abundance of things, any of which would do to be answered soon, especially the damn printing.
