A wise man once said, “Every great adventure begins with a hatred
for complacency, the absence of fear, and a love of the unknown."
In my opinion, every great adventure begins with the decision
to get your lazy ass off the couch, making an effort to pee and the search for
your car keys.
I’ve sat on that couch.
It surrounded me like a security blanket, restrained me like a straight jacket and stifled me like a cocoon.
Occasionally, I’ve felt motivated to get up. However, like reality television or flatulence,
eventually the episode passes even with inaction. I’ve had a dream or a thought; witnessed
something wonderful, lunatic or frightening about the human race and felt the
urge to write about it. But alas, even
with inaction, the episodes passed.
A few times I reached over and picked up those car
keys. Once or twice, I managed to back
the car out of the driveway. Backed it
right out; pointed it in the direction of somewhere wonderful, or frightening,
or funny and was determined to embark on a great adventure. Ultimately, I would
move the car back to its space, put it in park, and slump on the sofa.
Still there were moments when a character would start to
form in my mind or the framework of a story would start to build. Moments when in the midst of my
rantings and ramblings, out came a salient point or a thought that provoked an
emotion. And when this took place
outside my mind. When I shared these
ideas with people and they laughed or gasped or shook their heads in disbelief.
It made me want to take that journey and see where it would lead. Alas...
I don’t know what will become of this. I’m tempted to delete what I’ve written. I’ve deleted the opening lines to great
novels and award winning screenplays a thousand times. Well, it felt like a
thousand. It was at least five. Writers embellish. I had dreams that could have been, that
should have been, that would have been if I got off that couch and taken that
ride. So, “Why now?” you ask. I mean if I allowed you to read this, you
would ask. And my sofa is screaming,
“What is there to say? Quite frankly,
you say too much already. (My sofa can be a snarky bitch.) You’re busy. You’re tired.
Maury is gonna tell us if Buford is the baby’s daddy. What great thought do you need to express?!”
Mine. The great
thought I need to express…is mine.
Whatdaya’ know? I
made it around the block. Onward!
