It’s funny, in high school music was my life. I lived and died with the successes of my choir. That hasn’t completely changed, I still love music. But I’ve traded it in. Music, while important, is no longer the love of my life.
It’s difficult to explain why I love the art of words so much, but I do. I love the practice of rolling around inspiring (and uninspiring) ideas in my head until I can finally attempt to put them into concrete words. Then rolling the words around on the tip of my tongue just to hear the cadence and grammatical syncopation that they create. And lastly, the polishing process in which I attempt to find a balance between clarity and uninhibited aesthetic beauty. Of course that’s the ideal process, and not what usually happens. Unfortunately, because of time or will, I stop somewhere in between one and two. But think of everything that could be created if everyone followed the steps through to the end.
As a result of this love, one of my favorite activities is talking with people about things that matter to them. Even if the topic isn’t some noble cause like world peace, but instead, learning how to cook their mother’s famous pie. There is a passion behind their words that nothing can compensate for the lack of. I feel like I’m getting a window into a little part of their soul and understanding them in a way that I didn’t before.
I also feel like it tells me a lot about myself. It reminds me of similar experiences in my life and shows me how much my thoughts are similar to theirs and how mine are different. The differences are not bad, but sometimes it is good to know that others do not feel the same way. Believing everyone thinks and feels the same way you do is an easy trap to fall into. But really listening to people and trying to understand and accept who they are helps me remedy this. And so I love to talk to people. I love the power of their words to stretch my perception of the world, hopefully toward a picture that is closer to truth.