“ₙₑᵥₑᵣ fₒᵣgₑₜ wₕₑᵣₑ yₒᵤ’ᵥₑ bₑₑₙ.
ₙₑᵥₑᵣ ₗₒₛₑ ₛᵢgₕₜ ₒf wₕₑᵣₑ yₒᵤ’ᵣₑ gₒᵢₙg.
ₐₙd ₙₑᵥₑᵣ ₜₐₖₑ fₒᵣ gᵣₐₙₜₑd ₜₕₑ ₚₑₒₚₗₑ wₕₒ ₜᵣₐᵥₑₗ ₜₕₑ ⱼₒᵤᵣₙₑy wᵢₜₕ yₒᵤ.”
₋sᵤₛₐₙ Gₐₗₑ
𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢. 𝙼𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 “𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐.”
Here’s a great example of this:
I have a spare bedroom in my apartment always, and for as long as I’ve been on my own I always seem to put everything in this room that needs unpacking and sorting through as I’m moving in, just so it’s “out of the way,” but I never go back and fully unpack. Ever. I’ve realized that I don’t like settling and unpacking entirely when I know I’m going to be moving again makes little sense.
What makes less sense is that while this is an accurate statement, yes, I know I will be moving again, I also know initially that it likely will be at least a year or several before I do so.
【Ｓｏ ｗｈａｔ ｄｏｅｓ ｔｈａｔ ｈａｖｅ ｔｏ ｄｏ ｗｉｔｈ ｗｒｉｔｉｎｇ？】
everything.
See, writing has always been my thing, so when I write, I don’t half-ass, I really write. And if I don’t put my everything into what I’m planning to post and share with the world, I don’t post at all.
I don’t want to be the writer that you sometimes stumble across something deeply thought out or beautifully artistic only on occasion. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time, including myself. Does that make sense?
I want my time invested to be an enlightening self-growth personal experience for me, and to share what I’ve found along my writing journey with those traveling along beside me (psst… that would be you). I always hope to provide a pleasant journey and am very unlikely to post publicly anything that I think would be a waste of your time as a reader. We all have very limited time already, I want the moments you choose to give to me to not offer some kind of potential positive impact, whatever that might be for you: inspiration, relatability, motivation, laughter, insight,…whatever you need to find.
W̸̢̧̨̗̜̞͎̱͈̬̑́̏̈́̚͘e̴̢̺̬̰͊́̉̾̈̿̽̕ͅ ̸̨̡̲̪̩͉͙̲͎͒̽̃̅͝f̸͈̠͓̰̮͋̋̍͊́̔͘į̷͈̻̫̭̠͈͊̏̏̑̕n̸̛̲͚̠̼̭̬̰̿̓̉̋̀̃̍̋̾d̸̨̯̱̹̊̈́̀̈́̆͑̊͘ͅ ̷̢̘͎͕̳̗̝̮͐̀̄̾̽̈́͜͠͠w̶̧̺̺̳̓h̶̯̮͈̥̳̰͊͊̍̾̓̿͋͗̑a̷̡͌̓̒t̵̡̺͙̣̥͚̍̋́͒̀͊̃͗̕͜ ̵̟̏̌͆͑̉̊̚ẅ̵̫̮͚́͠e̵̪̦̱͒́͌̓͆͛̀̀͂̇͜ ̸̙̬͔͚̣̮̟͎̏̒͛͊̄l̷̻̻̤̱̜̝͋̿͂̔̉̐̃̚̚ó̶̻̞̟̦͒̾͂̌̄͋̔͝o̸͓͓̞̩̗͓̖̐k̵̡̗̋̀̎͆͑̓͒̈̆͜͝ ̵̢̨͎̮͒̀̎̈f̸̧̼͍̜̙͍̲͖̲̀̔̇̓̔̆ŏ̶̼̺̗̅̏̔͌̏͠r̷̛̯̣̦̖̙̖̉̄̉̽̐͘͠.̷̙̬̯̖̾͐́̚͠
That being said, I will share that I sat down to write and really was stumped as to what I had to offer. I admittedly read online through journal prompts, as I often do, and found ultimately that I was displeased with every single one– Which I always do…. every single time. I don’t know why I even look for them, I never find what I’m looking for, because the reality is that I’m looking for myself…. and that’s not something I’m going to find unless I start digging on my own. I can be offered hundreds of treasure maps and be offered tips of how to best get to the prize,… hell, I can even follow said map and dig up said treasure, but it wasn’t what I was looking to find. It isn’t my treasure and therefore it isn’t as valuable or sought-after for me personally, if that makes sense.
As I fumbled around fighting the stubborn writer that I am, I realized that I was overthinking it. I recognized my own exhaustion and reflected back to my weekend, my day, my surroundings, exactly where I am in this moment…. and it hit me like oh shit, I’ve been so focused on everything other than this obvious giant, colorful, loud, magical talking hippopotamus standing in my direct line of vision….
What I realized is that I live in Mississippi, grew up in the Arkansas delta, and what I experience and live as “normal” every day events, encounters, weather, thoughts, foods, …. Well, to those who aren’t from around here, that might as well be a giant, colorful, loud, magical, talking hippopotamus.
Make sense?
So often we assume that everyone else could care less about that trivial day-to-day seemingly normal stuff, because we assume they also have these experiences… and while this is true, yes, the majority probably do have similar routines and experiences, I could say something as simple as “As I drove my morning commute to work…” and that definitely would not look anything at all similar to anyone’s commute in the far north, nor is it even remotely comparable to the “normal” morning commute of a New Yorker. What is routine and trivial for us may be MIND BLOWING when actually expanded upon. I just feel like we, myself included, assume that a morning commute is a morning commute and no one needs to hear about the details of something so routine and boring for us, because no one wants to hear about something they also routinely and boringly do….
I can’t speak for anyone but myself, but umm, hell yes I’d like to know what it’s like for someone who isn’t from around here to do— their morning routine…. that wouldn’t be boring for me, I’d be fascinated and admire the differences and things that I’d never consider because I never have to. That’s fascinating as hell for me personally! Feel free to share what you think is trivial and routine, I’d love to compare how similar/different we are. How cool would that be?!
I’ll save my commuting experience for next time, however, I just wanted to share some photographs from the King Biscuit Blues Festival that took place in my hometown in Arkansas over the past weekend, that I helped work. It’s something routine and “normal” for me, because I grew up in the delta where the blues was something that was always around… expected.
I drove down Wednesday evening after working all day in Oxford, Mississippi, and arrived to town late, knowing I’d be up early to help set up for the friend’s organization I was asked to help work for, just like last year. I decided to take off two days of work from my job to help her, because at the time I thought she was going to have to do all of this work solo, and I’m just not that kind of friend. I’ll help you out in any way possible if I have the means to do so…and I did,… I had enough PTO to take off and get to work.
I guess I need to explain that the heat in the south isn’t like anything you’ve ever experienced have you not visited in the summer seasons. When I say 90 degrees, for someone in say, Colorado, this could be quite pleasant… a nice day….
This is never the case in the Arkansas or Mississippi delta. The humidity is so insane here that 90 degrees may feel like 102– and it’s not just heat, it’s a muggy, hard-to-breathe, moisture in the air, almost suffocating heavy dampness that just “is.”
The best way to explain or even come close is to ask you to blow onto your hand like you were trying to fog up a mirror. Feel that heavy, muggy heat? Now keep in mind the coolness you felt when you stopped never occurs, because the humidity doesn’t just go away like you stopping blowing on your hand…. it’s constant. So take that heavy, hot, damp, mugginess and imagine being in an airtight room with that being the air surrounding you. Now imagine that room is not a room, but it’s everywhere outside unavoidable to you.
…………..this is my “normal.”
So needless to say lugging heavy equipment to the tent several blocks away from the parked van, making several trips back-and-forth, … I already was sweating before we began, because again, it’s humid as fuq and there’s no escaping that,… but by the time we were set up, I had peeled (no exaggeration, it’s hot and muggy remember?) off the t-shirt I purposely wore on top of a sleeveless shirt, and this became my sweat blotting means for the remainder of the day. I did this every day I was there. And I had to wash everything I wore every single night when I got back from working, even on the days that I wasn’t moving tons of shit…. dude, just standing outside … even if I didn’t move at all….. still I’d have to wash my clothes, because they’d be soaked in sweat.
Lovely, right? This is normal for us southern delta-raised individuals.
Come visit. It makes for a great story to share….oh, and also, we are super friendly down here. You could run into someone you’d never met in your life at a gas station who would gladly give you the shirt off of his/her back if you really needed the help. We all speak to one another, strangers or not, and it’s bizarre if you pass by someone and they don’t speak, and even more strange if they’re spoken to and don’t acknowledge you. That’s just our culture. It’s expected. Come see!
I think I’ll share more of these little things that I take for granted as the things that everyone knows about, when really, my usual is quite unusual for others…
I mean, I’m unusual and pretty fucking weird as a human being anyway, I’m not a typical 33-year old woman of the USA, I promise you that with my life…. but I forget that my “routines” aren’t the same as yours… and my environment is very different.
These are important things I will have to remind myself to share more about.
For now, I leave you with a few photos from the blues this weekend… and if I have opportunity I may add more explanation of each at a later time, but until that time, I’m eager to know what you interpret or assume about each photo now. Please feel free to share your thoughts or assumptions. I’m easy-going and think that would be fun to see different perspectives on random photos. Hell, you can even “caption” each photo as what is going on– that could be both very fun and hilarious.
Or just look and leave…. there’s that option too. Again, I’d not be offended either way.
For now, I bid thee adieu, and look forward to our next journey together. I am glad you took the time to travel alongside me!
Enjoy the short slideshow! 🙂
Resa Land 