For the most part, I have been true to myself.
There is a girl in Paris. She has blonde hair, eyes of an mischievous blue that sparkle when she speaks, and a voice both resonant and pure, with crisp consonants and a slight lilt as her tongue caresses them; for she loves words. She speaks of surprising unsuspecting publishers with her trashy feminist novels, but what she means is that she hopes that she will not be disappointed and that they will not miss the heart and soul that she has put into her work, the poetry that she infused in every paragraph, and think false the very experiences that she writes about, negating her effort. She has a kind heart and thinks often of others, and speaks of colours as either 'hostile' or 'inspiring'.
She writes and tells me that she thinks that I am inspiring, and asks how I have inspired Canada since her last visit. I do not want to disappoint her, and though I know I can't because the only person she can be disappointed by is herself, I wonder if I will be able to write her soon, confidently telling her that I have indeed accomplished something that can make her proud.
I realize, though, that what the Joanies in this world seek when they look for inspiration is not material acquisition or sudden fame, but something much more true. Something that profoundly touches someone external from yourself, that you may not even be aware of until years later, if ever, and is not a reflection of some output of effort, but more of an input of energy and clarity. I aim for the purity of spirit comparable to those I surround myself with, because I know that goodness by proxy is only a stepping stone in the right direction. I love.
She writes and tells me that she thinks that I am inspiring, and asks how I have inspired Canada since her last visit. I do not want to disappoint her, and though I know I can't because the only person she can be disappointed by is herself, I wonder if I will be able to write her soon, confidently telling her that I have indeed accomplished something that can make her proud.
I realize, though, that what the Joanies in this world seek when they look for inspiration is not material acquisition or sudden fame, but something much more true. Something that profoundly touches someone external from yourself, that you may not even be aware of until years later, if ever, and is not a reflection of some output of effort, but more of an input of energy and clarity. I aim for the purity of spirit comparable to those I surround myself with, because I know that goodness by proxy is only a stepping stone in the right direction. I love.