The Dizzying Effect of Observation

There is writer's block and then there are the stone walls of procrastination, distraction, and pure laziness. I have to admit I've hit the block and all three walls the past couple of weeks. 

I've hit them face-first so hard, I swear my nose is coming out the back of my head. Searching for inspiration, concentration, and perseverance has been like riding a skateboard against freeway traffic. Hopeless and painful. 

Rather than fight the traffic, I've been bad.

What's irritating is that for years I've known many ways to overcome these obstacles. For example, just a few months ago, I wrote about the advantages of people-watching, particularly at McDonald's. As a teacher, I always told students that if you don't have anything to write about, write about not having anything to write about. I even constructed brainstorming lists on separate pages on this site to serve as stimuli.

So I have no excuses for not writing. Except sometimes I'm just a goomer with no excuses. I was so frustrated I just wanted to get away. 

So I did.

And it worked, though almost as painfully as running into the previously mentioned stonewalls.

Remember in ninth grade when the teacher assigned you to write about an embarrassing moment? It wasn't because he/she wanted to get dirt on you. It was because embarrassment is at once memorable and instructive. 

Which brings us to Washington, DC. 

Last week, my wife needed to go there on business. Since my mind was mush here in Minnesota and because I love exploring that city, I decided to get away and meet her there. 

Recently, she had been there and had eaten at the Skydome Restaurant in Crystal City. She raved about the food and the panoramic view of the city. 

"Hmmm," I thought. "Maybe that can shake something loose in my brain," so that is where we went our first night in town.

Just so you know, there's the something-loose-shaken brain and the totally spin-dried, God-schmucked brain. I got the latter.

When the elevator door opened on the fifteenth floor, I could barely move. The view stunned and riveted me. 

To our left was the Pentagon, the Air Force Memorial, and Arlington National Cemetery.

Across the Potomac from them stood the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, the Old Post Office tower, and the Capitol. 

From the right, a jetliner rose from Reagan National Airport and streaked away.

I stood speechless, attempting to drink in the beauty, the bustle, the vastness, and the palpable air of history shimmering over the entire spectacle. I didn't want to move.

Then the waiter said, "Follow me, please." My wife gently pushed my elbow.

I don't know if it was my gaping mouth or my twisting and turning as we crossed the room, but she smiled and whispered, "I told you."

We sat at a table near the window, but I wanted to see more. I kept craning my neck to see more while muttering, "Wow." 

This was the first time my wife laughed at me. It was a restrained chuckle, but laughter nonetheless.

I was not offended. I understood perfectly well why she did. 

Here she was with an incoherent country boy babbling and gawking at the big city, impressed by what natives consider commonplace and mundane. If I saw the same thing, I'd laugh, too. I smiled with her and ordered a steak dinner to comfort my bruised ego.

Throughout dinner, we discussed our separate flights from Minnesota, our plans for the next day, and other assorted minutiae. It was a perfect conversation in a perfect setting.

Then the noise from the kitchen and the television above the bar began to distract me. Annoyed,  I thought, "I wish the waiter hadn't put us so close to all the noise. I wonder if he'd move us."

Evidently, my scowl gave voice to my thoughts. "What's wrong?" my wife asked.

"It's kind of loud..."

"Yes, but it'll be over in a few minutes," she assured me.

To my frustrated and grumpy mind, that seemed unlikely. "Why?" I asked innocently.

"We'll be past the bar," she said, tilting her head in that "Don't-you-get-it?" way.

"What?"

"We're moving."

"Moving? What?"

"It's a revolving restaurant. Didn't I tell you that?"

"Moving?"

"Yes. Why do you think they put a number on our table?"

"I...I don't know. I thought it was like Arby's or Culvers'."

She didn't exactly cough up her gall bladder laughing, but not for lack of trying. Had she not struggled to keep the sound in, she probably would have. 

Embarrassed by my own naiveté, I made the mistake of averting my eyes from her and looking out the window. Then I saw the disturbing truth.

We were moving! In a circle!! 

I don't care how slowly; we were moving in a circle!

I didn't feel so good.

"Are you dizzy?" My wife asked.

I gulped and nodded. 

This time her laughter was not silent. I can't blame her.

After recovering my equilibrium back in our room, I realized that besides the great food and majestic vista, this whole dinner had been illuminating. Not just about my lack of knowledge, not about my wife's patience and sense of humor, but about life in general. 

As mortifying as the experience had been at the time, I learned it's easy to get distracted by both the overwhelming and the ordinary. Amidst the spell-binding and the unremarkable, you can miss the important and meaningful. This is especially true for curing writer's block.

Eventually, you have to stop and observe what's happening around you and what's happening to you. What you see and what you hear will awaken not only your senses, but your thoughts, your conscience, and your creativity. It's when you fail to pay attention that you shut down and miss the obvious, the significant.

Waking up can make you dizzy, sure. It can be embarrassing what you've missed. But when you get by all that, life will be so much more fascinating and spectacular that you can't help but have material to write and thoughts to share.

It all begins with observation.

Just for your edification, you may want fly over the stone wall of embarrassment rather than running smack into it like I did. Unless you like your nose sticking out the back of your head.