I cannot run away from the difficulties I face in life. As hard as I try, I cannot run the infinite distance it would take to do so, for there is no true end in sight. Nor do I dare to ignorantly think that a change of pace will make the difference. If I stopped moving, the past would catch up with me, because no amount of running erases the damage. No amount of moving will eliminate the pain.
When you run, you are only in a place that temporarily dulls it. And no new destination will erase whatever malaise took your energy, your inspiration, and your muse. You have to face it head on, like the matador with her bull. You beckon it towards you with a quick flair of red before you plunge the sword in. Only then, as the beast lays in defeat, can you safely turn around, bow in a theatrical manner and know that you can walk away. There is no need to run anymore.
So I must face my difficulties head on before I leave America in May. This does not leave a great deal of time to set things straight; however, there is no one that I must face except myself. Perhaps knowing that it is only myself will make this an easier fight; however, it is then that I realize that the enemy on the opposite side of this duel is me. How can I be my own enemy? By standing in my own way.
I have lacked inspiration to work for a while now, as if the tide had receded and made the beach a desert. And California is known for its beaches, but all I saw was sand. After spending nearly ten years in Los Angles, I feel that it is not a place that inspires or moves me anymore. I recognize the beauty around me – the ocean, the hills, and the parks – but to me, the Paris architecture alone is a visual banquet and I need that kind of visual stimulus. But what am I afraid of and what am I fighting?
In a journal entry on May 29, 2009 – while spending my last few days visiting Paris – I wrote about the fear of returning to Los Angeles. “I have to also realize that a lot of my emotional turmoil today is due to going home and fearing losing this new sense of self and returning to the old me! I want and need to continue on this path.” However, I do fear the reverse now. I have to realize that moving to Paris will not suddenly infuse me with a consistent inspiration, a constant muse. There will be hard time ahead. There will be trying times.
Since I made the decision to leave Los Angeles, I have been infused with inspiration to write. It is truly irresistible and I am now nearly finished with my next project; however, there is a realization that I could find myself in a dark uninspired wasteland in Paris. Perhaps it is because I have recently pulled myself up from one such wilderness. I am completely aware of the fact that it is not Paris that would do that to me, but myself. I am my own worst enemy and, regardless of the reasons, these thoughts alone, when planted, can kill the root of the flower before it has had the chance to see the sunlight.
So I must not let the idea take root. I am not running away anymore, but running towards something important. Since I was a child, I have searched for a place to call home; a place that inspires and nurtures my creativity, which in turn creates a happiness that swells within my chest. As if I were having a heart attack due to joy. Today I know where I need to go to find such joy.
The city of Paris has always felt special to me. Perhaps my idea of it is wrapped up in a romantic notion – after all I am a romantic – but it is a notion shared by millions of people, who do not even reside in one of its Arrondissements. The Parisians are proud people perhaps for a reason that is Paris. They recognize the beauty that is constantly around them. At their fingertips.