It’s just so hard to get started, there’s always something else that manages to get in the way. Some time ago, a colleague from work who’d not long run her second marathon said the same was true of training, that’s the hardest part was putting on her trainers. I took this comment with a pinch of salt, she’d just run two marathons, I’m sure she has no problem putting on her trainers, but apparently that bit is the most difficult- the just getting started.
So here I am a year and a half after supposedly taking the first steps to writing and I am only now just getting started. I suppose I’m only putting on my trainers now, whereas before I was only looking in the shop window at the sports store. There are just too many other things that get in the way, too much house to clean, too many weeds to pull, too many websites to browse and too much work to be done. I let all of these things get in the way of what I want to do. I guess that’s why, when I took those steps that day I felt so moved, like something precious part of my life that had been lost was now found, like a piece of me, long buried had been unearthed.
So there I was, in the bookstore having let so many things get in my way. I took the stairs up to the academic section and it was there that I felt overwhelmed with this sense of a part of me returned. As I perused the shelves, the authors and titles tapped into my appetite for knowledge. I greedily picked up one book after another, desperately wanting to be able to devour the contents there and then. Inspired by great teachers, whose life’s work was devoted to nurturing young minds, reminding me that once, I was inspired and motivated by these great educators, that I had a passion for learning that I wanted to help others develop too, but this had long got buried by other things in life getting in the way. The philosophers whose thinking had challenged me and ignited my intellect, I longed to be reading the likes of Wittgenstein, Dewey, Wollstonecraft and Freire, writers known, read and unread and writers new, I wanted them all. I wanted to recapture that lost time for intellect, that time when learning was all my life was about, when stimulating conversation and being mentally challenged was a constant, not an almost forgotten part of my past.
That’s why that day in the bookstore I felt overwhelmed, almost emotional- because some integral part of me, long lost and buried in the minutiae of everyday life and responsibility was reawakened. I felt such a strong need to do something with this emotion, to express to purge it in some way, I thought I’d do it later, but later got busy, so I thought I do it tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. A year and a half later, I’ve found time to tap into that emotion, that need, that feeling I felt of needing to reconnect with who I am and what I stand for, not just the stuff I do each day.