Exercising writing passion

So I’m sitting here lamenting the fact my brain has not cajoled fingers into forcing into print anything worth reading in quite a while.

Here would be at work in an HR call center.

This current career position hails far away from the newspapers I used to work at. I feel out of practice at writing and tend to look toward the familiar to start back again.

In between calls from those concerned about their healthcare benefits, I ponder my lack of passion about almost anything except my family.

So that’s where I’ll start.

Today, my children each performed in class plays. My son had a speaking part as a news reporter and my daughter a bit in a chorus.

Seeing them cost me overtime – some badly-needed dollars – but the thought that they’d remember either my attendance or my absence led me to attend.

My son beamed.

My daughter shined.

Their attitudes were “Priceless” to quote the ad series currently airing.

Dollars deferred fled my mind when my son continually hugged me after his performance. He played a Fairy Tale News reporter at a protest scene where protesters voiced opposition to cutting down Jack’s Beanstalk for a mall to move in. The class performance centered on a news broadcast with live reports from various locations and then returning to the anchors’ desk.

From my son’s report I could veer off into the politics of development, popular where I live, Loudoun County, Va.

I’ll veer instead into describing my son’s cool delivery of his lines. He had a professional stage presence and admirable lack of fear.

He’d begged me to attend the play, but before I got too far in congratulating him on his thespian prowess he shooed me away, saying it was time for recess.

My daughter’s role didn’t involve acting, just waving an over-sized leaf and singing. She threw in a little dancing for good measure. She’s a dancer anyway. Music doesn’t just find it’s way into her ears, but also into her body. She can’t help but follow it’s lead.

My wife could not attend. She’s higher up the career ladder than I. I’ve found that usually means one is less able to take off work. She always seems to have a critical proposal to get out.

So when I made it into work it came around to pondering passionless personality between calls.

I posted a comment on John Shore’s site after reading about ongoing Protestant reformation and then wondered about my efforts to follow Jesus Christ.

As those in 12-step groups say, I claim spiritual progress not spiritual perfection.

My friend Randall approached me about an idea to publish a web-based magazine based around his life. That might prove interesting as he’s been studying Pimpology as a science. I’m not sure how that fits into my spiritual goals, though. His theory is along the lines everyone is either a pimp or a prostitute and he’d rather be the pimp. That’s sort of a hammer-and-nail analogy there, no pun intended.

By this time you may be thinking, “This Sam guy must have Adult Attention Deficit Disorder.”

Well, that’s one diagnosis.

After about 500 words, you’ve read how my late-shift mind meanders through a murky alley pondering passion, focusing on forging strong family ties, criticizing my practice of Christianity and perusing Pimpology.

Now if I can put it all together I might have an interesting column.

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One Response

  1. Uh, Christianity and Pimpology? Have you lost it?

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