DAYDREAMING

I was born first of five children. I have lived up to the stereotype of first-borns. I've always been an overachiever--in school, in competitions, on jobs and in life. I was out in the world first in the family (and in the first month of the year), and I wanted to remain ahead of the pack in all ways. Having said that, I also became easily bored in classes and was branded a daydreamer very soon by teachers. They never understood why or how I loved to lose myself in new worlds created in my young mind.

Non-creative people even now don't understand me. They think if I profess to be a writer, I should have my hands on a keyboard at all times. Even when I edited a company newsletter, the bosses expected me to be writing, editing or interviewing all hours of the day. Woe to me if one of them walked into the office to find me staring aimlessly out the window. I have longed to tell people who do not write (or paint in oils as my husband does) that part of the art process is to think about the craft, to research the subject, to muse on the words (or image) I want to finally appear on that screen (or canvas). Artists need time to daydream.

Today I hiked to the park around a small pond a half mile from my home. Pad and pen along with my lunch rode in the backpack. I walked around the pond, made note of the wildflowers in bloom after a winter of nice rains, then found a picnic bench near the playground to have lunch. As I've told you before, one of the best ways to obtain ideas is to eavesdrop and today I had that opportunity while enjoying he sunshine. Listening to the conversations of young mothers discussing the best places to shop for clothes for their toddlers and the angst of taking children with you to the gym, I found myself smiling, remembering, comparing their lives to mine at the same age. With the lovely sound of childen's laughter as they play, my mind wandered to thought of what I can do with tidbits I'm hearing.

I've made notes on the yellow pad beside me, jotting down ideas and creating a list of names. Quinton. That name has a nice ring to it, does't it? Max is cute in his pint-size soccer outfit and the freckles across his nose almost match his red hair.
My mind shifts to the need to draft an essay for this blog on thinking--free thought--daydreaming. And I realize I must be honest: I have never lost that habit that drove the teachers nuts--I am still a daydreamer.

Sometimes our best writing comes when we aren't physically moving that pen across paper or clicking away on those keys. When we are between projects, blocked in that sagging middle of our book or story, or hit a point where we are undecided about where we go from here (whereever we are in our work), we have permission to NOT WRITE.

Let our minds wonder, let the thoughts drift along, skip from idea to idea, even snooze a bit. Creativity can rise up from doing little else but embracing the art of daydreaming.