So today was a day like any other. Just a standard day for Matt. But I'm starting to learn that a standard day for Matt is not a standard day for everyone else. Every day now I am compelled to write a significant amount, even if it's about nothing in particular. But every time I start to write about nothing in particular it becomes about everything in particular! I know this sounds kinda weird but that's how it is, or rather, that's how I calculate it anyway. A friend of mine once said that everything was relative. Though I agreed with her very confidently, I didn't really know why, but now I do. Yesterday I had no plans - yesterday morning, that is. When I had a meeting early in the day, I started to set a course for the next day and in that decided to go to Swords, my home town. I don't usually make plans for the next day... I am a one -foot-in-front-of-the-other kinda person.... something I used to get a lotta flak about years ago. But it feels comfortable for me so take a hike if you don't like it. But for some reason I wanted to take a trip to Swords, so I set about doing so at 13.30 today.
The day was like any other in Ireland... humid, but cold. Something you tend to get used to. I had only one commitment for the day... to write at least 750 words, thanks to 750 words.com. I figured that because of Swords and all I wouldn't get a chance to do it. Bit of a shame when I just started using it. Anyway that's not important. The point was I just decided on a whim to go. From the weather and the usual go of things it wasn't likely to be a particularly great day. So I set about on my journey feeling generally uninspired and under pressure to suit my own expectations. I finally got to the bus stop and stood there, listening to some music. The band was Deftones and I thought for some reason "why would I feel the need to listen to something so teenage-angsty like this?" I couldn't make sense of it and I didn't try. I was enjoying the music. I'm pretty sure if someone had tried to guess what it was I was listening to, they couldn't guess accurately. They might get the genre somewhat right, but not the band. I figured some people I know might be surprised I was listening to them, but it didn't strike me as particularly significant. Suddenly a guy walked by me in a strange, broad, attentive fashion. I knew something was going to happen. Something good.
He was a heavy metaller. I could tell this because I looked at him. Yes, I know what you're thinking, don't be judgemental and I'm not. He was definitely a heavy metaller or else he hid his interests very well indeed. He wore a leather jacket. He wore black jeans. His hair hung long and dark, just past the middle of his chest. He had a stern look about him. He walked with a certain dignity and pride about him. He demanded my attention.
He demanded my attention.
Why is that? I felt inspired all of a sudden. It could have been the combination of his presence and my last thought on myself, but suddenly I wanted to write. I waited for the bus to come and juggled the thoughts spinning in my head. I didn't want to take out my notebook there and then as it might be impractical. I don't care if I take it out and someone doesn't approve, I would do it out of urgency or necessity if I had to, but I just felt that if I did, I might not get my writing done clearly and accurately as I wanted to. I had a lot to write all of a sudden. Inspired, just from out of the blue. Like a bolt of pure magic. I know that guy was trying to stand out for some reason. Some reason that his 30+ years on the planet demanded he dress how he did. Perhaps, I thought, his reason was to motivate me to write something that I needed to later that day, but this was foolish I mused... There is no way he could have known I would write so hurriedly and so enthusiastically. That it was me, the average looking scruffy haired, impartial guy at the bus stop at that particular time who needed something to write about. I concluded that his image was not to impress or inspire me, but to impress or inspire himself, or perhaps an impressionable youth, perhaps someone who struggled for identity. It was certainly a possibility, but I drew no concrete conclusions... just temporary ones that I would discuss in writing with myself when I finally boarded.
Soon the bus came and I boarded. I picked a seat fairly quickly and sat down. I crossed my right leg over the knee of my left and hoisted my jeans up a little so as to add comfort to my overall posture. I unlocked my iPod and increased the volume a little. I was going to listen to this music a little louder. Just because I was feeling good about writing and everything it encompassed... Inspiration toward the topic that had hit me so furiously and from out of nowhere. Somewhere inside I thanked that guy and whoever had inspired him to dress that way and for whatever reason. I was to write what I did in my notepad because of him. It would make a satisfying article for me later that day, I thought. I now had a topic for my 750 words. I jotted everything I could think of until the bus stopped.
Another topic for another day perhaps