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January 14, 2006 - Saturday, 5:25 p.m.


Iíve been thinking. What is it that motivates us? What gets us out of bed in the morning, and into work? Better still what motivates us to work the way we work? What makes us want to do our best? And then, what motivates us to write, paint or create? Are they different motivations, or a continuous thread?

Iím pretty sure it is different things, at least for me. Part of me really looks forward to what the work day will bring in challenges and allowing me to use that analytical part of my mind. A big motivation, of course, is the income. An inner pride in the type of work I produce, and my manner in completing those tasks, this come perhaps from upbringing, but also a desire to prove value. Why am I kind? Why do I strive to make every encounter pleasant? Why that wave of calm that I generate around me? I am nice to everyone I run into, I canít find it in me to be mean or rude. But where does that come from? I donít think it is just dislike of conflict, though that plays a part.

It seems the calm has to be there for me to function. I like the quiet. I like it to be orderly. I know some people have aspirations to see New York, or to be in new and exciting places, but that isnít me. I canít count the number of times Iíve wished to be sitting on a porch, in late summer or early fall, and just listen to the rain, and the thunder in the distance. I love the sound of the wind. Nothing compares to the smell of earth after a rainy afternoon. If I could pick any spot on earth to live it would be in the woods, by a lake. Iíd be able to hear the small waves lapping at the shore and the dock. It would smell divine; peace and serenity would surround me. The summers would be warm with the distant sound of kids swimming and speed boats moving on the lake. The falls would be filled with solitude, a time to contemplate life, to read, and justÖ be. Winter would take me back to Colorado. I donít like the tropical warm; Arizona and Florida hold no appeal for me.

What motivates and inspires my creative mind? Environment is part of it. Depending upon my creative choice my inspiration can come from sadness. Poetry flows much better if I am slightly sad and contemplative and very much so if I am in despair. Hand work, like crocheting, shows up when I need calm or distraction, or of course, if someone is going to have a baby. :o) Writing? When I desperately need to put my thoughts in order, or have a great desire to communicate.

Some times a sort of lethargy settles upon me and I canít get myself to do anything. The creative outlets seem to dry up. If I donít find an avenue to express myself creatively eventually itíll make me terribly restless. Often Iíll retreat to bed and sleep. Sleep is a wonderful escape. You slip into your dreams and anything is possible. You can run for hours without fatigue, you can fly; you can go places you desire to go to. At any moment romance can appear and sweep you away. This is much more likely in dreams than in reality. In reality I am nearly 46 years old, and there are very few choices around. There are definitely more women on the planet then men, and there are probably twice as many woman that desire to be married. By 46 the choices have pretty much dried up. Any man worth having in your life is already in a relationship or marriage, or theyíve already decided that theyíll NEVER marry, or never marry AGAIN. If youíve decided that casual sex isnít on your agenda those very few choices that are around, seem to dry up completely.

So a life contemplated of silence, calm and solitude is probably a reasonable choice. Itís much more like to occur, and fortunately, at least for me, there is an appeal to that sort of existence. Really, what Iíd like to have is the removal of the stress of survival; however that isnít likely to occur either. Therefore it is a balancing act. Can I work enough, and enjoy it enough, and be paid enough, that I can have a retreat where I can center myself in the calm? I guess that is what I am striving for now. I hope in twenty years Iíve found a way to pay everything off, and be able to have that retirement by the lakeshore.

This day has slipped away. I meant to get a number of things done. I meant to get out of my pajamas. The sun has set, and I can see its blue and pink cast upon the clouds to the east. The level of light in the room is diminishing. Iím not cold any more. Soon itíll be dark, and I suppose THEN Iíll wake up and want to go some place. Tonight might be a good evening for a long drive, a place to contemplate life and have a nice discussion with myself.

Iíve a headache, I need something to eat and a shower and drive is calling me.

Have a good night.

LaterÖ M.

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