When I write I am typing the words in my head; a soliloquy that, up to a few years ago, was never given literal voice. I talked to myself, but never out loud. Never in print. Now when I write it is like taking dictation for the little dude in my head; luckily he never talks faster than I can type. I wonder sometimes if my typing skills improve what would happen to the voice in my head. Would he speed up?
His voice changes sometimes, depending on the tone in which I am writing. When I first started writing it was always in the tone of a mad prophet. Much of what I wrote might not have made sense to anyone who did not live in my head. Too many obscure references and inside jokes. Too many thoughts chased down too many rabbit holes. Very few of them ever captured, but all released unharmed.
Sometimes he takes the tone of voice of the crusty old staff sergeant, especially if I feel a good old fashioned ass chewing coming on. It may be a sad testament to my state of mind that I am my harshest critic. It may be pathetic that sometimes I must chew my own ass out to get off my cot and get moving, but it is effective. When I give voice to the Sergeant, action always followed. Mostly he talked to me like an instructor carefully trying to guide me through the twisting, tangled and often overgrown paths of my mind. Lately he has been talking to me in a Scottish accent.
I think I have been watching too much Craig Ferguson.
He is hilarious, though, that voice in my head. Even in the darkest of times I manage to make myself laugh. And sometimes little gems of wisdom get through his apparent insanity. “You want to lose weight? Eat less, move around more. There you go.” “You feel disorganized? Well, just tidy up your crap and you’ll be fine.” It is self-evident, really, but so much of what I know I should do is self-evident, or it should be.
It’s not always about knowing what to do though. Usually it is about having the courage to take that first step. And even more often it is about continuing down my chosen path even after I have stumbled.
My best friend told me recently that she still remembers how I gave up all my bad habits at the snap of my fingers. She never saw all the times I tried and failed. I guess I just finally got tired of failing and decided to quit doing that, also.
I have never heard the voice of God. Even at my most devout, whenever I talked to the man upstairs, I knew it was me who was answering back. That is why I don’t pray. If there is a benevolent force out there in the Universe, certainly She doesn’t need my input as to what I need. Hopefully She has a better understanding of what would be best to help me make the most of this life.
So I don’t ask for anything.
I just try to listen to hear a voice that isn’t mine.