I like monkeys.
But not really.
I thought I liked them a lot.
But an unfortunate incident involving an alarmingly amorous monkey in Thailand changed all that.
Turns out I like the monkey concept more than I like actual monkeys.
For example, I love the word. (Say it with me: monkey!) And I like the qualities I associate with monkeys: playful, cute, clever, funny.
Even so, the truth is that I’m in love with the idea more than the reality.
Exhibit B: Moleskines.
Oh, I love the notebooks – the smooth pages, the rounded corners, the clever pocket in the back, the way they feel in my hands. I even remember the very first time I saw a Moleskine, that’s how in love I was.
But I don’t write in them. I own three. They’re blank.
Because as much as I love ’em, when I want to map out an idea or scribble down a thought, I turn to my super-cheap generic sketchbook. The one that doesn’t care whether my thoughts are worthy of a Moleskine or not. The one with no Hemingways attached.
Maybe I could work on my stuff around messing up writing in Moleskines. And maybe I will. (Same goes for amorous monkeys.)
When I think back, there are plenty of times I’ve been in love with an idea of something but been unwilling to admit that it’s the idea I’m in love with.
And I’ve clung to the ideas of things because I didn’t want to experience the sense of loss that sometimes shows up with truth.
But the clinging takes up space. Not so much with the monkeys and the Moleskines, but other things, yes?
You know the stuff.
Speaking of you, my lovely…
Are you clinging to the idea of something, even though you’re not in love with the reality of the thing?
A goal? A relationship? A pair of shoes? A way of being or doing?
What kind of space might open up if you were to admit that the gap between the idea and the reality just isn’t worth crossing for you?
And what might you do with all that space?
The lovely Marissa wrote about not running marathons. Bless her.