crazywriterWARNING: I was halfway through writing this when I realized that oh, this isn’t actually how flowers work. This isn’t actually scientifically correct at all. How did I pass first grade? Anyways, I understand that this isn’t correct. I just liked the idea too much to completely erase everything and start over with a new analogy. Try to overlook the problems and get my underlying meaning, okay? The truth is that I am trying my hand at inspirational writing again after a mind-numbing haze, and it’s really difficult. Really. I’ve spent a long time just staring into my computer screen wondering where to begin. I promise it’ll get better. I promise. Just bear with me until I get my brain back, alright? It may be awhile.

Inspiration is all around us. I like to imagine this inspiration as a field of flowers. Each of us as an adorable, fuzzy bumblebee flying next to our heads. The bumblebee pollinates are own personal field and no one else’s. The InspiraBee is ours. When a flower is pollinated, it begins to bloom. When it’s in full bloom, that’s when we get a brilliant idea. Sometimes the ideas bloom for a very long time. Sometimes they die off immediately. This is caused either by the lifespan of the flower, or our diligence in taking care of it. When we neglect to tend to an idea or cultivate it, it withers away. Sometimes it dies forever, sometimes the petals just fall off until it’s pollinated and restarts the entire process over again. So mostly, we have a fair amount of control over what we do with our inspiration flowers.A problem occurs when your InspiraBee refuses to pollinate. It sits on your head and does nothing. The flowers don’t bloom. You sit in your field, feeling entirely unfulfilled and meaningless. You can look over your pretty white picket fence and see your neighbor’s garden. “Hey, look at these flowers! Aren’t they neat?” he says, cheerfully holding a painted watering can. You smile and nod, but begin to feel bitter and jealous. All your neighbors have wonderful gardens, and yours is bare and colorless. “Curse you, you hideous bee!” You try beating your fuzzy friend, but it only stings you. Frustrated, you go inside and don’t come out for a very, very long time.

When you emerge again, you check your garden. It’s gorgeous. InspiraBee was there the whole time. You look to your neighbor’s garden and notice that the old flowers have died, and new ones are coming in. Your flowers are not duds. They’re only late bloomers. Everything was okay the whole time.

This entry was posted in Dauntlessly Cautious by Dauntlessly Cautious. Bookmark the permalink.

About Dauntlessly Cautious

I’m Abigail, a wildly emotional teenage blogger-empress. Sometimes I blog about my copious feelings. Sometimes–a lot, actually–I blog about my past. Sometimes it’s random and unexpected–romantic thoughts passing by, an odd dream I had, and so on. Oh yes, and I have a lot of opinions. Chances are you’ll disagree with at least one of them. I started blogging in April 2013, a little before my fourteenth birthday. Since then, I’ve published many posts–some groundbreaking and ingenious, some embarrassingly dismal. No matter their quality, however, they all play some sort of a part in my life story. If you’re in a stalking mood, read how my attitude changes from good to bad and back to better again. It’s all me. This is the mind of the odd, imaginative girl you see in the hallways, the cafeteria, and in classes. This is the heart of a human battlefield turned into a wonderful, scar-littered garden of hopes and dreams. Welcome to the two (or three, or four) sides of me–the daunting and the rash, the apprehensive and the careful.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>

Follow Me