I’ve been struggling with an appropriate topic to blog about.
In the past week an uncomfortable revelation came to light that really shouldn’t be a surprise. The news is nearly a decade old. My emotions surrounding are real, and as much as I would like to spin a lengthy yarn about it . . . I don’t think it would be fair to do so.
Water under bridges and what not.
Still though, I want to write something. I need to write something. I stopped and started a few post.
Tonight, I finally became desperate. I went to a free dealer in topic starters at The Daily Post at WordPress.
This turned out to be brilliant.
I can focus my minuscule writing muscles on a pre-generated topic, safely. And today’s topic was appropriate.
Today’s writing prompt was, “Did you have a secret hiding place?”.
I’ve had many, and none were ever physical places.
Whenever I was bothered by something as a child and teenager I would often find myself lost in reading.
The plains of Hyperion were rife with danger for pilgrims slipping in and out of time.
These, and many more, were my secret places where I escaped to when the world out there became too much, rather it was losing a loved one or not being able to quell the anxiety I often felt in social situations.
Writing was the same way too, building fiction on paper and computer to sort out and escape from, and often metaphorically deal with real problems.
And I can’t keep a discussion of my secret places in past tense either.
Today, my favorite secret place is in my running shoes. The little revelation that had me bothered (I’ll go so far to admit it is silly, but again my feelings real) drew me to run along the riverfront for 4.6 miles at a pretty good clip, an 8:16 minute per mile pace.
With a little endorphin rush and being outside on a beautiful fall day, dashing over bridges and through parks, I was able to refocus, escape from my bad thoughts and find a bit of peace. I could only do this alone.
I hear people sometimes speak of secret places, places to retreat to, to hide away from whatever bothers you in bad terms. I don’t know. Perhaps they are right sometimes, but I don’t always think so.
Sometimes secret places are life savers. Sometimes all you can do is hold on tight, carry what is bothering with you as far as you can until you’ve finally run, read or wrote far enough to just let go, because honestly that is all you can do.
How do you define your secret place? In what terms?