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I direct a lot of energy inward.

I struggle to understand myself, strive to improve, search for an ever-deeper sense of identity and meaning in life. Sometimes, too, I ache for attention, long for approval, and worry about how other people might perceive me. In accomplishing these things I’ve attempted a multitude of activities, like reading books and writing myself notes, speaking with therapists and talking to the mirror. These all point inward.

What would happen if some this energy went elsewhere? Where would it go?

Today I battled rain so I could play an hour’s piano for residents of a local assisted living home. The piano wasn’t so great, and my performance was imperfect. But they applauded after every prelude and sonata movement. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten so much applause.

At home I made plans with someone I haven’t seen in a while. It’s not a close friendship, and I know there are many more enjoyable ways to spend my time. There’s a part of me that even resents our plans. But I can’t help myself. I know what it feels like to be lonely, and my friend is. If two of my hours can help, it’s hard to say no.

I scheduled a night to watch my friends’ children. I would have been there last weekend, but their plans changed at the last minute and I wasn’t needed. Spontaneously I offered them a rain check. Today it rained.

I’m still saving a videotape recording of a recent debate of Massachusetts gubernatorial candidates. I’ve watched it, but I know someone who interested in seeing it. Of course, if she doesn’t come by to pick it up by election day (in three weeks), I’ll record over it.

I mailed a completed survey form to the Boston Lyric Opera. The little blue sheets of paper didn’t include questions about Tuesday’s opera. Instead, someone wants to know if I prefer getting e-mail or phone solicitations, and if I subscribe to other theaters. If randomly selected, I might win a cool prize. Only the solicitations are guaranteed.

I bought a book for a sick friend, just published in hard cover. It’s about smallpox. The cover is painfully bright in red and yellow, which I suppose is the point. It’s sitting on my radiator. I use that radiator as a shelf for items I want to give to other people. In addition to the book are plastic animal miniatures for the kids I’ll baby sit, video tapes to return, and nice clothes than don’t fit me any more. Behind the radiator are my inline skates, but I’m not giving them away. I just need to put them away for the winter.

And tonight, a week after I wanted to, I submitted twenty pages of my novel-in-progress to a bunch of friends who meet on the last Monday of every month. We talk about creative writing, get constructive feedback on our creations. There are twelve of us, which means I’ve had to critique the work of all eleven of my fellow authors before it got to be my turn again.

Sometimes life is about being bombarded with possibilities. It’s nice to toss a few back.

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Copyright 2002 Seth Maislin

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