From the Beginning

I was looking at some old writing of mine the other day and came across this. Why I wrote it I don't know. To be honest, I cannot remember either time or circumstance and it certainly refers to nobody in particular. Perhaps it was just a dream or an idea of mine? I know a few people had said I should write so it's possibly an encapsulation of their thoughts and my desires? Whatever it was, I'm pretty sure it was the first piece of prose I ever attempted and led me to what I do today.I've not written many short stories as previous work tended to be verse or "soundbites" but maybe I'll put a few more on here now and again. This though was the Beginning!

She had said so: “You’re a brilliant writer so go and write!” That was the effect she had on me, everything seemed possible when said by her. Much has been made of the male menopause.

That time in a man’s life when he looks at himself, his purpose, his looks, and especially his future. I had looked and had run from what I saw there. A conformist, comfortable existence on the face of it but underneath, frustration, depression and unfulfilled dreams. I suppose what made it worse was that I knew the dreams could become reality. I knew that I had the power and ability to transcend existence and replace it with Life. Here I was teetering on the edge of a jump. The virgin parachutist sitting in the aeroplane doorway, mind wanting to let go but body screaming “No”. How I longed for that feeling of freefall, knowing that not only had I conquered my fear but I had fought my way into a whole new experience.

Why her? What was it about her that inspired me to even contemplate change? Maybe it was her confidence in my abilities, maybe it was the freshness of her attitude? I hardly knew her but I felt that her own freedom was forged from hardships past, her philosophy and vision gleaned from a myriad experiences, both good and bad. She was the catalyst. She had said “You’re a brilliant writer so go and write”. But what do I write about?

Can living the life I want through my words provide a substitute for the real thing or will it just make me into a lonely, frustrated man, committed to a keyboard? I want real commitment. A commitment not to a destination, but to a journey - and a journey which has no end. I was trapped in a scenario of my own making. I wanted to show her that I was capable of interesting her, that I was worth getting to know, that I was a person who would complement her own independence. I wanted her as a friend. But she held the key that could unlock me. Hers was the voice of real sanity in my antiseptic, logical, balanced world but until I could talk to her, learn from her, grow from her, I was alone. How many people are there alone in this world? How many people can truly say that they are content?

How many people will dismiss this as the juvenile meanderings of an “almost” man? Life is lived through many small victories. Perhaps one such victory for me will be that I have shown this to her. The result may be of awful or awesome consequence but, for once, I have been brave. She said “You’re a brilliant writer so go and write”. Perhaps I have now started my new life?

© Bertie Bassett Enterprises Inc. 2007