"Why Not"

Blank, empty, writer's block, past my time, before my time is meant to begin.

Force it, or let it occur, I suppose either one works, the pen is moving, right?

What do we talk about?

Why schools don’t represent a higher portion of second and lower-class citizens?

Why sorority girls, at least in Ohio, are primarily white… and blonde.

Why I began running again and what I’ve learned.

Or what about nothing at all?

How do I talk about nothing? That’s easy for me, I can write on and on without making a lick of sense, maybe that’s why I’ve found writing and any form of artistic creation enjoyable. I can do whatever I want, and maybe some semblance of sense will come.

So If I were to ask, “What do you talk about when you have nothing to talk about?” I’d probably say, something. Something or nothing, whatever you got at that given moment. What’s the circumstance? Maybe we need to paint the picture. You’re out with a friend you haven’t seen in a very long time, an old high school buddy of yours. You’ve just finished with the reintroductions, you’ve found out each other's professions and what they wish to accomplish, now what? The conversation begins to lull, and you panic. Today, you’re a bit tired, you had to run some unplanned errands before you arrived, and you swear the latte you have in your hands is being made with a decaf espresso bean. The topics you throw out are all nothing somethings, things that seem like they would be a good conversation topic, but your conversational partner is receiving them in one way and offering you back a continuation or a new topic on something you can’t wrap your foggy brain around.

Look, maybe it’s because I’m a people pleaser, but I want to have a fantastic conversation every time. I want to be the greatest conversationalist. Also, maybe I’m a bit of a perfectionist. I wish to sit down and inspire the person in front of me, to make sure they leave with something, and maybe they leave with something, even though that’s not something I may ever know. I’ve spoken to many people. I’ve sat across from them and had one on one conversations with them, it’s my favorite form of communication, a coffee and a talk. But even though I can’t always get what I want, this form of communication feeds my soul. I might have a terrible conversation, but I’ll usually know why, and how I might shift on my side to better myself. I also think as I continue these conversations, there’s no true way for me to control any bit of them, every person is different at every moment in time with different thoughts and experiences. One phrase could strike a different response than another, and it’s exciting to me to explore the lives of others through the art of talking.

I realized one thing while sitting in the park writing the other day. Person after person walked by, people interested me, struck my curiosity, made me think, forced me to reflect, and one brought tears to my eyes. I spoke to none of them. As I write this 8,028,504,258 people are on this planet, maybe more, maybe less. I can imagine that I will not speak or even see most of these people. I will probably only muster the capacity for very close friends in the single digits, some of which I will lose and some I will gain. Some I haven’t ever met yet. I’ll date a smaller amount of people in my lifetime, and I may forget a lot of people I met. I’ll make acquaintances with many people and make friends with fewer.

I don’t know exactly what this means to me, but I think it brings me a little peace to know that it’s alright not to know. I think I look at people and wish I could be a part of their life in some way, I think, “I wish I could sit down and talk to them.” But that may never happen.

Then I think of all the stories I have not heard. Traumatic stories, stories of heartbreak, stories of witnessing and/or experiencing love. Stories of poverty, coming out of poverty. Lies and conniving villains, role models, and the everyday regular committing the heinous. Even if you were able to sit with every single person on this planet for coffee, you would be met with stories left untold.

I wonder if this particular writing is a reflection and my attempt at diminishing my desire to be everywhere to be everything, and to attend to everyone. “Maybe the world doesn’t want to be saved… have you ever asked her?” My friend asked me this while discussing pertinent topics within this writing. Have I ever asked her? I suppose I have, but have I been listening to the change? While having the conversation, I forgot to notice that the answer may have changed through the course of the conversation. People change their minds, but also, people mishear. Maybe I misheard.

I suppose I have a hero complex. I’ve wondered for quite a long time letting that go, but then I ask, “Why not?” I think it’s interesting as I strip away many of the things I believe, or believed for so long, and all I see is this blank space, nothing. But within nothing you have a choice, is that nothing nothing? Or is that nothing something? That’s what you talk about when you have nothing to talk about. You choose as you are innately something, but are welcome to decide if you are nothing. But why not care, why not love, why not save the world, why not live in optimism? If in the thought that nothing actually matters, why not make it matter?