I reflected on the state of my life, thought about all the many flaws I have in my character. They say that knowing yourself is a good thing, but I think that this kind of introspection is worse.
I know that I’m a loose cannon, that I overreact to small things1, but I’m helpless to stop it, can only watch as my life becomes a train wreck.
At least if I were unaware, I could feel that I was being righteous, like I was a crusader for good. Instead, I get to watch the train wreck of my life unfold, powerless to stop it.
Something Al had learned2 as one of life’s great truisms was that nothing turns a man into a rabid dog quite like being told he’s going to have to work over the weekend.
I closed the door behind me, took a moment to let my surroundings sink in. I fingered soft linen towels, squinted up at the lights, felt the smooth polished brass of the door handle.
I pulled down my pants, plopped down on the toilet and let the years of my childhood wash over me.
I spent a lot of my childhood years cocooned in bathrooms.3 At a time when I was insecure and prone to bullying, they provided me a sanctuary, a place where I could think and philosophize, process conversations I’d been forced to have, ponder my fate, to dream, to imagine.
In the bathroom, in the beautiful silence of the bathroom, I found freedom and peace.
Footnotes
1. I wrote this in 2014 while at work. I don’t remember exactly what happened, just that I had overreacted to something my boss had asked me to do, a regrettably common pattern in my behavior, and was frustrated by my inability to control my anger.
2. And by Al, I mean myself 😉
3. Being an introvert, the bathroom has always been a safe place for me. It’s where I go when I’m feeling besieged by social forces and need time to recharge.
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Part three of my four-part weekly series, Ex Nihilo.
Almost there.
Finally, after a ton of freewriting and brainstorming, after racking my brain for hours trying to conjure up enough relevant ideas to cobble together a blog that will hopefully interest and inspire my readers, this is where everything comes together.
I admit, I’m a little embarrassed to share an early draft with you. As I mentioned in the introduction to the series, these are the things you were never meant to see. This is the rabble I quietly brush aside backstage when nobody’s looking. I felt all right sharing my freewrite and organizational notes with you, because those were far enough removed from the final result that I wasn’t afraid of being judged negatively. The rough draft, however, is something else entirely.
Rough drafts are bad. Really bad.
They always are. Even in the exceptionally rare case where I feel utterly inspired, where I’m able to go from start to finish without feeling like a complete fool, I’m soon humbled when I review my work a few hours or a few days later and realize how poorly executed it was on the first go around.
This is normal. Writing the rough draft is like forming a pot out of clay: you can’t make it pretty until you’ve captured the shape. Only when you have a rudimentary structure can you begin to iron out the lumps and the creases.
But the potter doesn’t share his half-baked pots, and I don’t ordinarily share my poorly written rough drafts, which are so crudely constructed that they could have been written by a second grader.
Anyway, here it is, in all of its flawed and imperfect glory.
Enjoy, and try not to think me too daft…
Does Imagination Matter?
We live in a world of data. We exist cocooned in a nest of numbers and formulas, of figures and facts. We’re often taught from an early age that our world view is worth nothing unless it’s rooted in fact, that imagination has no place in our minds, that it displaces other more noble and worthy endeavors. We look around at the world around us, so hostile to the internal force we yearn to satisfy, and we shrug our shoulders, wondering if perhaps they were right, if we might as well pack up our artistic pursuits for more worldly endeavors.
We gaze about us, and we ask ourselves, “Does imagination matter?”
Imagination is a lamp set before our feet.
The universe is a mysterious place. Many of its secrets remain hidden and unknown, untouchable, impenetrable. It’s subsequently a dark place, and we’re left to stumble around half-blind, with only our limited perceptions for a handrail. Imagination is an illumination reaching out into this darkness, showing us a way forward. Imagination provides a framework, a way of perceiving a world filled with mysteries. It doesn’t claim to know the answers, but provides the creativity necessary to discover them. Imagination is a unique perceptive power that allows us to see what isn’t there, giving us the ability to make sense of the inexplicable.
Imagination is the impulse that drives us forward into the dark unafraid.
It teases us with promises of what may lie ahead, assuring us that all the universe has to offer and more can be ours if only we have the courage to pursue it. It’s a taste, a hint of what’s to come. It’s a way of looking at the world, a covenant between the Universe and Man.. It is our motivation and our inspiration, a confident trust in the unknown, a faith that the world is fundamentally ordered and that we can understand it if only we dare to reach out.
Imagination is our guide.
It bridges the gap between what is and what may be, leading us to new life. Through fantasy, mysteries that hitherto held little interest captivate us, forcing us to give chase, and thereby ultimately leading us toward a love of what’s real. Through our imaginations, we find that we’re better equipped to relate to reality.
Imagination is our mentor.
It precedes every discovery. It teaches not through rote memorization or blind adherence to established doctrine, but hands on experience, through passion and dedication and a profound desire for the Truth.
Imagination teaches us to love.
By dreaming about other lives, we become curious. By becoming curious, we become driven to learn more about others. By learning more about others, we foster understanding. By fostering understanding, we develop empathy. And by developing empathy, we learn to love.
Imagination teaches us about reality.
It allows us to reach beyond the obvious, to cast ourselves out into the darkness like a net to grapple with things we don’t fully understand. And once we’ve reached out and hooked a mystery, we can make use of logic and reason to slowly reel it in.
Imagination and reason are not contrary but complimentary forces, each of which must be given equal weight. Imagination is the fire that drives our pursuit of the truth, while reason is the vehicle that gets us there. Like the synthesis of body and soul, the synthesis of imagination and reason is a sum that is much greater than its parts.
Imagination facilitates creation.
We not only discover reality, we manufacture reality. Imagination allows us to picture things as they might be, and by shaping and molding the things around us, we alter the universe to match the pictures in our heads. It is through this creative power that we play the rather odd role of being both subject to the Universe and its author.
Imagination is a supernova of the heart.
It’s a wellspring of potential energy, an explosive force that illumines and breathes life into the cosmos. Imagination transforms us, orienting us toward a more perfect union with the Truth, and through this union we find the source and summit of our life.
That’s it. Next week, I’ll conclude the series by posting the final version of my next blog.
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