My neighbor has a huge truck. You know the kind. One of those trucks that make you uncomfortable when you stand beside it because you are only five feet tall and the truck is at least twenty. (Oh, just me?)
This truck is loud and obnoxious, and all “look at me and how much money I spent on a truck that could have bought me a house.” This truck never surprises you when it passes you on the highway, and you notice big metal balls hanging from the back. That’s what kind of truck my neighbor has.
(in all seriousness, if you want to buy a big truck and it makes you happy, you do you.)
I wouldn’t pay as much attention to this truck if my neighbor didn’t pay as much attention to it. If all the men in the world spent as much time with their loved ones as he does with this truck, reality shows would look like episodes of Rainbow Brite and Fraggle Rock.
This guy is out there at least twice a day, every day. Rain, snow, heat, day, night, he is with this huge black monstrous truck. He is lovingly wiping away every speck of dirt while wearing gloves (is there such a thing as special car washing gloves?), waxing thumbprints from the doors, diligently checking his oil and filters and wiper fluid.
If he started making out with this truck, I would not be shocked in the least. It’s the next logical step. This guy loves his truck. Like, reeeeally loves his truck.
As I wrote my morning papers on my back deck this morning, he was out there with his green microfiber cloth, lovingly rubbing the hood and listening to AC/DC. I paused and watched him for a moment and thought about how often I see him out there taking care of that truck and I had a revelation.
If this guy can take care of his truck as well as he does, every day, why am I not taking care to write something every day?
I don’t need to write a whole book, or even one chapter every day.
I don’t need to write an entire blog post every day.
I don’t even need to write emails every day.
But I do need to write something, anything, every day.
He loves his truck and wants it to last a long time. I love my job. I love my career and my freedom. I love writing. It’s my passion. Duh, right? So why don’t I show it the level of care and respect that this truck is getting every day? It felt utterly senseless. So, I came directly into my office and thought of this blog post.
I’ve had major writing blockage for a few months now. Nothing is happening, and nothing is getting me there. Every writer feels like that at some point. I’m not going to say things like figure out what’s blocking your creativity, or try meditating and remembering all the things you love about writing.
If it were that easy, none of us would have trouble getting up in the morning and writing our hearts out.
Today, my neighbor and the love of his truck propelled me into my office to write about him. So, I challenge you to find someone who loves something as much as that guy and his truck. And when you do, tell yourself that you’re better than that shithead, and go bang out a few paragraphs. You’ll feel better before you get to 550 words. I promise!
(And if none of this is helpful, take comfort that you are not alone in your troubles.)