Write Away

Writing is sacred to me, there’s little that’s more powerful than the written word. Stories, both true and imagined, are how we form our identity and come to an understanding of this earth. There’s truth in the shortest sentence, if it comes from your genuine self. It survives whispers and thoughts and becomes immortalized on the page. I am, as I’ve mentioned before, writing less than usual and less than I like. Many things are out of my control, I feel. Sometimes it’s my mood and sometimes it’s my work load that prevents me from writing. I blame no one. I wish I was inspired.

Earlier this week, after a morning appointment, I was walking down a busy street in Berkeley. A young and seriously out of shape guy with a floppy mop of hair walked out of his 3 story apartment building across the street and took a few steps. He hurled a black pair of tennis shoes up in the air, watching as they caught the telephone wire. They lurched as one shoe fell faster than the other and bobbed as the wire gave a little from the weight of the tied laces. He stared at them for a moment and then started walking back in. He turned around as he walked, to see if anyone was watching and stared at me. I stared back. With a nonchalant but clumsy air, he walked back in to his complex. I looked back at the hanging shoes and noticed that next to the newly hung black pair, there was also a hopeful pair of white tennis shoes dangling about a foot closer to the building.

A few weeks ago, after dinner, we were driving with some friends. One of them asked what it means when shoes are dangling from a telephone wire. I mentioned that I had always heard that it meant you could buy drugs on or near the corner. Someone else said that it meant that someone had died recently. Maybe it means both.