Drama

It''s one of those days again. I''ve been staring at the computer screen thinking about what to write. My head is a jumble of ideas that start off somewhere and never really go anywhere. It''s like that crafts project that everybody begins but finds itself in a corner of a room a couple of weeks later. My brain is filled with those little corners. When I run out of inspiration, I try to walk around that room and pick things up, wondering if I can get anything out for an article. To me, writing an article is like panning for gold, sifting through experiences and hoping that some gold nugget will sparkle under the light. I wonder sometimes that if I live a more dramatic life, I wouldn''t spend so much time looking for material to write about.

Really, my life is pretty undramatic. If it were a landscape, my friends would be living in mountain ranges and I would be living in a plateau. I''d have my own peaks and valleys but they''d be few and far between. Sometimes, when I see friends I haven''t seen in years and they ask me what''s been going on, I have nothing to report. No major break-ups, no career changes, not even a hairstyle change. If I go to my high school reunion, I''d be one of those people listening to the gossip instead of spreading my own. I haven''t yet figured out if this is because of the choices I''ve made or if it''s because I have a tendency to underplay things that are going on. Like if my friend and I went on a trip, she would most likely say it was "Fabulous!" and I''d say it was "Fun!" If we saw the same guy, she''d call him gorgeous and I''d probably say he looked nice.

But, on second thought, if it were merely a matter of perspective and others looked at my life they''d say it was filled with peaks and valleys, too. But they don''t. Sometimes, I get the feeling that they''re trying to analyze how uncomplicated and undramatic my life is. If I had told my fifteen-year-old self (which by the way was immersed in pocketbook romances and adventure movies) that this would be my life, it would have bothered me. A lot. I mean really, people are always saying that our lives are a blank canvas where we should paint bright outrageous colors to make it the best. Strokes had to be bold and loud so that people would take notice. There is no room for the quiet, gentle strokes of an artist in the corner who uses muted colors. A painting that had no drama or no boldness was barely a life at all. Yes, this life would have bothered my young, inexperienced fifteen-year-old self.

But thank goodness, I am no longer fifteen. At twenty-seven, I have come to the conclusion that an undramatic life is nothing to be alarmed about-it is the unchanging life that must be avoided at all cost. For most people, the story of their lives are carved out by hurricanes, tsunamis, earthquakes and meteor showers that visit them every once in a while. But for others, the landscape of our lives are carved out by the daily sculpting of gentle winds and timid waters, of frequent sunshine and soft rain, of feathery clouds and delicate footsteps. A meteor can, in an instant, create a crater that is awesome to behold. But given enough time, the flowing river and the shifting winds can create the Grand Canyon which is equally beautiful.

Yes, my life may be undramatic but it is constantly changing. I am not the same person I was ten years ago. I am not the person I was ten months ago. I am not the same person I was at the beginning of this article because even then I had no idea where I was going. For in the beginning of this page when I was still panning for ideas, there was nothing but jumbled thoughts about crafts projects. And now, I have come to the end of another article. And the only thing that happened in between was the constant clacking of the computer keys and the quiet, undramatic whispers of inspiration.