BAGGAGE

I always tell my students that the best time to study is first thing in the morning when you don’t have that excess baggage of the day weighing you down. Sometimes I wish I could follow my own advice because when the evening approaches, the clouds start to roll inside my head and cause all sorts of havoc with my ability to write. Yet, I still manage to surprise myself with a few profound statements once in a blue moon.

Tonight I’m not feeling it, the letters moving forward on my terminal forming a slow train of words, forming whole sentences, then paragraphs, only to see the letters evaporating, dismantling the tracks of where they once were, leaving white space and a vertical blinking line.

I try to escape my worries. I try to concentrate. I try to type. Letters. Words. Sentences. Paragraphs. Then I start to think that the reason I’m not more productive at writing is because of what someone said to me earlier in the day. Baggage. More Baggage.

I tell myself: It’s just words. Spoken words. Once they’re said, they’re gone. Evaporated. Except for what they generate in our minds. Except for what they make us do. Except for what I might write. That’s what I’m afraid of. What I might write. That’s why I’m holding back. Written words have more permanence, even when you travel alone.