I'm an asker. The question master. I chat and natter, share the oldest stories from my locker and ask a lot of questions.
I ask, and I ask again.
"Do we have to do it that way?" "How many potatoes do you think you've eaten in your lifetime?"
"Can we take the scenic route home?"
"Would you rather be a bird or a fish?"
"How much trouble will I be in if I eat sweetcorn from the tin?" "How many times have you fallen in love?" "Who did you share your first bottle of wine with?"
Some of my questions are practical, some can be nosey (and a little annoying), but I'm interested.
I'm interested in how things work. Businesses, lives, minds, life.
I want to know and absorb.
I ask the questions because, yes, there are plenty of fears that I face, but one of the biggest is the fear of not asking. Not asking means not knowing, and I want to learn from the people that surround me. I want to know what they have to share and what they have to say, and I want to carry that with me.
I'm writing this because a recent stroll through the paths of the internet led me here; StoryCorps. It's a project that brings people together. They've collected and archived more than 50,000 interviews between parents, friends and teachers, partners, students and sometimes strangers.
It's about asking, listening, and then asking again.
Asking again, finding out more, absorbing more.
In a gentle way, I encourage you to do the same. Ask and ask again.
You never know what enlightening, golden piece of wisdom will be tossed in your collection.
I've been trying to write for the past month or so. I've lost it a bit. Writing wise that is.
Time hasn't really been on my side recently and with new things beginning my focus has been elsewhere.
After two weeks of little to no ideas I began to lose patience with myself. Staring at the screen for half an hour trying to muster anything of worth had grown tiring and I gave in. I rode the 'my brain is mush right now' wave (I still am a little bit) and attempted to focus my attention on other things.
That didn't go too smooth either.
I can feel myself losing concentration - and interest - in things I once thought were my own.
And to be frank, it's not a feeling I enjoy.
Alas, with only two minutes of brain power left this is all I could rally together.
I'm feeling numb and a little lost. I have some strength in me, but please, be gentle.