I can’t even begin to describe the huge feelings that come with a morning like this. There is truly no high in the world for me like the early morning light, a brand new-to-me coffee shop with the most perfect latte and a blank page for writing something new. The enormity of possibility is an actual drug straight to my brain. Anything could be created and that potential is the most beautiful and grandiose idea. This is exactly how the writers of ages past accidentally strolled into a lake.
However, a few moments in, I am always confronted with the stark reality of life. There is no such thing as a perfect morning with perfect writing. Even if the stars do happen to align a little and that beautiful scene just pours out, it is only that, a scene. It still must be massaged, worked, edited to become something that can be shared. Alone, it’s a beautiful thought and a fleeting thought, but it is only that. A real work that can be shared and exchanged comes from messy, grueling work over days and days and weeks and weeks and years and years.
I never wrote much as a younger adult because I merely chased the high of that perfect writing morning that rarely comes to me. I never put in those messy moments attempting to edit in the middle of gymnastics class when it is so loud that you can’t even hear your own thoughts. I didn’t realize that I’d have to learn new skills that did not come naturally and that took time and repetitive effort. I couldn’t fathom that I needed to study other’s work to see the kind of things that worked well and the kind of things that didn’t.
I wanted the magic morning with none of the grind. I’m now in a place to understand the grind and I’m willing to be patient though all the bumps and delays along the road. I can deal with trying to figure out website design and social media and re-reading my work so many times for continuity that the words don’t even make sense anymore.
All that said, it still doesn’t diminish the utter wonder that comes with the perfect writing session. Something about that slanty morning light and quiet conversations of neighbors mixed with millennial hipster background music over the hiss and clack of the espresso machines just unlocks an entirely new part of my brain. I’m taking my high today and I’m going to just be.
Earth has not any thing to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802
William Wordsworth
