[Photo credit: {CarLee}]
I’m leaving for Paris tomorrow morning and have not packed yet. Not a single thing.
I suppose I shouldn’t preface anything with “I’m not one to…” then continue to, whatever it is, but I’m not one to do that. Anyway, I figure since I didn’t write and share my travels last summer (I wrote though I didn’t share much of anything I wrote), I would make an effort to chronicle my thoughts and observations this time, if not only for my own pleasure.
The New Republic had this very interesting piece, “Alone with Words” about writing without the reader in mind. I know a lot of great writers and luckily for me, they’re my friends. I also, very luckily, know a lot of journalists. I wonder if there’s a difference in the intention in both of their writings, though don’t get me wrong, the categories are not mutually exclusive. Do you write to be read/published? Or do you write for yourself? Or is it a fine balance of both? To be read or not, we must remember that every piece we produce is a work of art on its own: “I believe that most writing worth reading is the product, at least to some degree, of this extraordinarily intimate confrontation between the disorderly impressions in the writer’s mind and the more or less orderly procession of words that the writer manages to produce on the page.”
We write a lot, we share some. Somewhere in between those two is the realization of what remains private. As you grow older, you become more self-aware (hopefully), but this self-awareness should never be debilitating to the point of creative censorship. There was a point where I either became too self-aware and self-conscious, or too “Sphinx without a secret” mysterious to publish or write anything. (It was probably also my becoming Viewpoint Editor and not being able to write, but that’s not part of the story right now.) I forgot to write for myself. I just forgot to write at all, actually. I consumed all sorts of media, I binged on culture basically — not realizing that a part of culture & the creative process was creating and contributing. There will always be critics, but make them your friends, so long as they’re constructive. Otherwise, haters gonna hate is what I say. Half the battle is showing up (or if you’re in the Daily Bruin office, turning the computer on), and when you do show up, the other half of the battle is being consistent.
I’m not a fan of people who declare hiatuses or returns for their own self-gratification/importance, so I will just keep trying to write, for both myself and whoever you are… but with this in mind: “But writers who live for their readers—or for what their editors imagine their readers want—may end up with an impoverished relationship with those readers.” Fortunately, I still have no clue who is reading and can just imagine you all to be robots, which helps in my own writing. Writing to robots.
Anyway, I’m still not packed.
Earlier this year, when deciding where I wanted to study this summer, I had narrowed the choices down to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and Paris, France. There were a bevy of reasons for choosing one over the other, but mostly, I didn’t think I was finished with Paris — not that one is ever finished knowing and exploring a city — but that Paris still had a lot more to offer, in things and people. Last summer, I arrived and settled in one of the most, if not the most, romantic cities in the world, heartbroken and with little expectation. Somehow, the City of Lights, in about six weeks time, took me in and spit me out, leaving me both more jaded and wide-eyed. It’s so contradictory to be so aware of all of the bad things yet be more hopeful, though I do suppose that just makes me an eternal optimist, kind of.
Paris left me with a thirst and yearning for something — I’m still not quite sure what it is yet. I’ve tried looking for it Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, San Francisco. My goal was to travel somewhere each quarter and for the most part, I’ve accomplished it, albeit there were a few repeats to a certain windy city. I love the conflict and opposition found in cities. I love being able to completely reject the clamor of a big city, tuck myself away and have some personal time. In cities, things rarely make sense, but somehow they always come together and you have this high concentration of creativity and energy all the time. When you’re lucky, the noise becomes white noise and you can still capitalize on the energy of the city but quietly retreat into your own creative faculties and create. Every city has its charm and I’ve been pulled in… and I’m helplessly intrigued and curious.
One of my friends and columnist at the time proposed writing a column about bad decisions and wrong decisions. He never ended up writing it, but I would’ve loved to read it, for his writing and the idea itself. That happens often — great ideas never come into fruition. Great ideas precede even greater expectations and we never start and/or finish in hopes of not disappointing the idea. But, is that backwards thinking? Anyway, for awhile, I thought my decision to return to Paris was a a bad idea because the opportunity cost was getting to know another city. Perhaps it is a bad decision in that sole respect, but I’m certain it won’t be the wrong decision because every facet of who you are today is made up equally of those wrong and “right” decisions.
It’s a shame Snoop Dog basically has creative claims on, “Greetings loved ones, let’s take a journey” because I’d really like to end with it. Whatever — I am so excited to sing Katy Perry’s “California Gurls” outside of California, though I haven’t decided if it’s more obnoxious to do so or not.
In the end, whatever decisions I do make — wrong, bad, “California Gurls” in Paris, or otherwise — I hope I remember that the most important thing is that necessary and delicate balance of all things in my life.
PS. If you’re interested, I’ll be flying out to Paris tomorrow morning, will be in Rome for a weekend in July and am currently planning the rest of my trip. I have Morocco, Portugal and the Netherlands in sight right now. Any suggestions and tips would be greatly appreciated.
