A friend was trying to write something and of course it had to be more of a profound writing so to speak. I thought of being helpful, I would try the usual motivational tactics. However in doing this I feel I motivated myself more than I did them any good.
I found myself at the same block not too long into thinking of what I would write. I tried to brainstorm and think of what options I had which only made it worse. I literally started and soon dismissed fifty writings in my head. This was getting me nowhere fast. We then started discussing writing itself. What we try for, what our expectations were, and authors we like to take after. This brought us eventually to Robert Fulghum and the story of a simple orange.
Now I have read this before some time ago, yet I enjoyed revisiting it. I was expecting the same reaction I had then, what a nice story and what a sweet moral to it. Yet reading it now isn't me 'learning a life lesson'. It strikes at the heart of me and in an awe insipiring way makes me feel better about life. The rude people, the horrible stories, the awful feelings just seemed to fade into nothingness as if they never exsisted. This simple story, as simple as the orange it was written about, so small as it may be can make a dramatic difference.
Of course reading this may make no sense. What is this story about an orange and how can an orange amount to any value other than itself? Read the story and you may find out. Then again you may read it and move along as many others have, going on as you always were. Me...I find it to provoking to ignore and not write about. Even now I am at a complete lack of words to describe the "euphoria" it has put me in. The thoughts of others can truly make you reconsider your own that you were once so sure of.