A matter of overstimulation

Column Post by Lakin Easterling

When I’m writing, it’s like a world of thoughts slink along my veins, from my brain to my fingertips. It’s like watering a garden, hot cider on a cool autumn day, a swift and suddenly-approaching storm. All the things that make my heart sigh, a bright and quiet “finally…”

Sometimes, though, writing is a broken dam, failing to catch all the million drops that want to drown my words, thoughts, all the riverbeds and wildlife that were given breath by the holding of those planks against the water. It turns into a sensory overload, and all my touches and sights and tastes and smells meld into one hot fuse of a nerve. All I want to do is hide, away from people, away from life, away from the laundry or work or books that are begging to be read, my daughter that’s begging to be held.

Well I told you I won’t make the same mistakes again
But you know I probably will
And so many nights go by like a flash
Like a camera without any film
But we don’t need to remember every single moment we’ve had
And I don’t need understanding for every single moment I’ve had.

Sometimes, we just need to let moments slip by. To let them drip from our fingers, relinquishing control over things that we can’t. We need a little privacy.

I think there’s a danger with writing, in that it can become a tool for over-sharing things that were meant for only you to be privy of.

Especially in our age of social media, there are ways to connect every single thing we do with billions of other people; we keep tabs on each other, pine over lives that look more perfect than ours, are elated when people we don’t like have worse lives than we do. We over-stimulate one another and take planks from our lover’s dam and nail them over our enemy’s heart, and we create floods and droughts and stand over it all, claiming innocence for our calamity.

Maybe I’m the only one guilty of this. Guilty of pulling words out and stretching them into horrible shapes; guilty of creating messes when I should have stood still.

Standing with you
Standing with you
I might miss the rhythm
But I’m catching the tune
And that’s something for me
Standing with you
Standing with you
I might miss the meaning
But I’m catching the truth
And that’s pretty good for me
—The Avett Brothers, “Standing With You”

I’m taking steps toward writing some privacy into my life, into my soul. I think it’s necessary, in order to fully appreciate life. Aren’t we more than pixels and images? I believe that maybe, just maybe, there are some things that are solitary, intimate caresses, kisses from a loving Creator.

He has picked a day’s bouquet, just for you. Hold those flowers, friend. Stand in silence and wonder, keeping some secrets for your own sake, and smile.

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Lakin Easterling is a wife, mother, writer, and avid reader. She spends her days chasing her toddler, Belle, and conversing with the elderly who are afflicted by Alzheimer’s disease or Dementia. She loves surprise coffee dates with her husband Luke, texting novels to her best friend, Laura Hyers, and being a college student. She dreams about being brave enough to get a tattoo, and believes in the healing power of a good cup of coffee. Her favorite nail polish is Sail Away by Milani. She blogs at http://threadingsymphonies.wordpress.com.

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