While driving the long and winding road to the train station before dawn, I realized I forgot my glasses. How would I see my laptop, besides zooming in so close I'd see about a word a page? Maybe I wouldn’t write, or read. Maybe I'd look out the window at the stands of pines along the track, watch the sunrise over the Norwalk River, see things I haven't seen in a while, or not at all. But to not write—after all those entries pushing people to write, no matter what? I felt decadent, but the more I contemplated taking that cheap vacation of looking out the window, the more enthusiastic I became. It doesn't take much these days to find a bit of happiness. Anything decent will do. When I reached the station, I found my glasses, but I decided to look out the window anyway. The result? A bit of living, essential to writing—and life. "From the time of Greek science till now, Western culture has usually had a lively, unselfish, and intellectual interest in the phenomenal world for its own sake." Annie Dillard, in Living by Fiction. Go ahead, indulge.
To put today's musing into inaction, see the tip at the top of the list. As always, let us know how it goes.
To put today's musing into inaction, see the tip at the top of the list. As always, let us know how it goes.
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