Growing up, I never looked at the world from one perspective. I always enjoyed seeing what other people had to think about things, most constantly asking the questions, (especially after seeing a movie with my parents).
“What did you think?”
“What was your favorite part?”
“Why was that your favorite part?”
“Why did you like that?”
“Explain it to me!”
I would never settle for just the facts. I would always ask for the reasons and the insights of others that lied deep in the depths of their individual minds. I believe, as a right-brained person, that the world needs more creativity. The world is bred to create creativity. After all, isn't the population on an assimilation of childhood stories, backgrounds, thoughts, feelings, emotions; things that all factor in our world today?
To write is to create, and to create, is to inspire. Humans are a breed of creation. Whether you believe in a divine creator of the universe or that two giant masses of rock collided by accident to form life or anything else in between, we are here now-– as we have been for a while-– and we are perpetually moving forward. While the monotony of hitting keys on a keyboard or writing letters over and over again is hardly an act of thrill, the rush of adrenaline to arrange more words to make ideas mean something for someone to comprehend is compellingly fascinating. While some are wired to compute numbers and memorize equations and formulas, those who take a more imaginative approach to expression tend to find their muse through words.
Writing is for the coffee house sit-ins with a knack for free Wi-Fi and their coffee black as the night. It is for the readers and the dreamers and the do-ers. It is for the old man who loves his wife even though she’s six feet under; his love will never be even when he joins her. It is for the angst-y teens (such as myself) who have trouble coming to terms with the fact that “no one understands them,” until they find a poem. Another hopeless existentialist with a twisted sense of hope wrote, proving otherwise.
While creation, in a biological sense can mean inevitable destruction, literature withstands the tests of time, being passed down from ages to ages. Information comes to us in the form of words and interpretation, but isn’t it odd that everything you’re reading is only 26 different letters that you mastered well before your tenth birthday? (Well, hopefully). And maybe no one will read what is being written, but the uniqueness of written word is one that appeals to an individual, rather than to satisfy a cosmic mass.
The way I see it, the world is not systematic. It is not a series of numbered equations. I mean, I suppose in the technical sense it is, if that’s the way you see it, but it is more than that. It is ideas; it is fundamental human nature that breeds and inspires innovation creation and discovery-- something that we cannot accredit simply to science because after all, how did people get those equations without thought and the articulation of their mental blueprints?
Everybody has their own individual world but if we look unto others to see the world through their lens, that is when it gets good. The world needs more thinkers, more dreamers. The world is not limited to the businessmen and women who want to build things from the ground up. The world is for the the believers, the writers, the articulate breed, the world-changers, the words, the writers.
