I’m always getting sidetracked by random thoughts. And if you’ve ever had a conversation with me, you know the randomness is not limited to pondering to myself, but also comes through when I talk out loud. The best way I can think to describe it is like the scan function of a radio. I may begin at one station then take you through a few more before I finally come back to where I started. There’s just a lot of thinking to keep track of here. Since I’m not elephant-like in memory or in any way whatsoever, I try to have notebooks, sticky notes or even my phone handy to capture my musings. It often takes me a while to revisit what, to me, are the beginnings of stories I feel an intrinsic desire to tell. It’s almost as if my fingers are resentful of being used on a daily basis for so many other less impassioned purposes. But when it’s time to sit down and add more substance to my scratch paper scribbles and the half-thoughts saved on my MemoPad app, all is forgiven and my pent-up urge to pour myself onto pages rushes to the keyboard with such energy that from another room you might think there’s a hail storm happening.
Today’s random thoughts have been brought to you by my appreciation for the below passage written by Sylvia Plath. It inspired me to think about why I write and there’s no better way to describe it than the way she did more than six decades ago.
[photo credit: http://mailordermind.tumblr.com/]
Being one of the rare days when I wake up and actually crave breakfast, I went to the Good Day Café to take advantage of it. Now, I’ve been to this café in Golden Valley a few times before, but never had I looked around like I did today. I was scouring the joint like an art director selecting a location for a photo shoot. As I took in every detail, from the strawberry seeds in my freshly blended smoothie to the light fixtures made from wire whisks, I realized how precious this place was. Precious and really, really popular.
Sometimes it’s so packed that there’s a line out the door. But it’s one of the few restaurants where the line isn’t an accurate reflection of the wait time. Long wait or short wait, each anxious diner knows it’ll be well worth it once they take their seat.
Each of the tables is rather unique. The table I was seated at today was reminiscent of antique barn oak like it’d been plucked from a farmhouse kitchen far away just for me. The mismatched pairs of chairs around it seemed to have been separated from their four-piece families, abandoned at a nearby thrift store until the cafe took them in. And I can’t forget the straws. Yes, folks, they have straws – bendy straws – in the middle of the table so you don’t have to ask for one. Pure dining bliss. That’s what this was. And I hadn’t even started eating yet.
My powered sugar topped Belgian waffle and personal-sized jar of maple syrup looked like something from the pages of Bon Appétit magazine. The plates came out no more than five minutes after I’d placed the order. The staff is super friendly, and twice as speedy. I was halfway through my waffle, sausage patty and smoothie when it hit me. This was all going by way too fast.
However charming the surroundings and wonderul the food, people are rushed through as if they’re trying to break a record for the number of times a front door can swing open in one day. As I left, I found myself wishing I could stay longer. I’d love to be able to enjoy a few cups of coffee and even read a book. The magic of this place was lost to the limited time granted to appreciate it. Sadly, this is far too often the case with things we enjoy most.
We don’t take enough time to delight in as much as we should because we’re too busy rushing here and there and doing this and that. As I thought about this, I glanced over to a sign near the doorway that read: Make time. What an interesting setting for such a message. I said it to myself over and over again. Make time…make time. We don’t make enough time. Not for ourselves, the people we care most about, the places we love, or the pursuits that make us happiest.