I have always stated that people are mentally deficient in their thinking and problem solving skills until they are at least 24 years old. I stand by that statement. I also think it’s cruel and unjust that you have to decide your entire life course and career before you hit that age. I certainly didn’t have enough information to accurately chart my path. I was making bad decisions planning out my weekend at that age and you want me to plan my life?
My net was too small.
Life isn’t linear. We are all dragging about this big net of information behind us. It’s all about the connections and how you pull it together. Your net contains your life experiences and all the information you spend a life absorbing. Your net starts out small and grows as you grow. The people that are interested in life and spend that life learning and growing have nets bigger than those who see learning as a chore to be avoided.
You’ve got to stay interested in life.
Working GirlIn the end of the movie Working Girl, the businessman they are trying to impress asks Melanie Griffith how she came up with her ideas. She spends the next little bit describing how she heard a radio segment, remembered an article she read, added it with information from her job, mixed it up in her head a little bit and was able to see a bigger picture.
I remember being a little dismayed with that as a big climatic movie ending as that is how everything works, right?
You take a little bit of this, little bit of that, mix it all up and you shake it all about. That’s what it’s all about. The mental hokey pokey. The bigger your net, the bigger your hokey pokey.
curiousI’m not here to judge your net or your hokey pokey.
Some things slip through, some of us lean more towards certain topics so our nets are specialized. The people that go down in history are the ones that have so much information in their nets that their hokey pokey changes the world.
I wonder what it would feel like to have a hokey pokey that big.
My net started out small and my hokey pokey was non existent.
I’m a reader not a writer. I didn’t grow up writing stories. I don’t have closets full of short story attempts. I didn’t have any thoughts about writing a book. I didn’t squash my dream of writing with anguish and heartbreak so I could pay my bills. My net wasn’t big enough for me to write.
I’ve had a book in my hand almost every day since I was 4 years old. I’ve now read so much, experienced so much, learned so much that the words are now forcing themselves out of my fingers. I don’t even have a choice anymore. It has become a part of my identity. For better or worse, the words are blowing out of my net like water out of a busted fire hydrant on a hot summer day.