Noticing the value of human writing.
It's nice to know that real people and real writing can still fuck you up.
I was sitting at the high-top lunch counter facing the art display on the wall. Not my favorite. I'd rather sit with my back against it if possible, preferably by the windows. Maybe that should've been my first clue that today would be weird.
In my hand I held a fork. Both it and my coffee cup took turns hovering in the air in front of me since neither would make it fully to my mouth before I'd have to set them down again. It was lunch time and I was at a local place I visit often.
Today was one of those days that felt like there was a delay between the audio and the video—not enough to be egregious, but enough to make you keep wondering if it was really happening or if you were just imagining it. Everything looked right, but something was just a little bit off.
A new coffee flavor in the spot where my go-to drip carafe normally is.
No open seats by the windows.
New art on the walls.
I had my laptop open in front of me and I was reading an essay by an author I hadn't ever come across. It was fiction, and I'd found it—as well as a few others—through the newsletter of a well-known, international media publication.
Damn—
I'd done it again. Since I couldn't stop reading, I kept remembering the coffee in my hand just as I'd need my fingers to keep scrolling. When I reached a section break, I finally did take a sip. And another. Then a few more. By then my eyes had drifted slightly above my laptop, lingering on the empty space on the wall below the art. I was really in my head, but I was really feeling it in my chest. I was anxious.
Wow...
I couldn't remember the last time a piece of writing had engrossed me quite so fully. I was also quite stunned to find that it'd ripped open a wound I'd been sure I closed years prior in therapy. That’s when I'd scrolled back to the top to check the author’s name. I'd been impressed by their writing skill, but also deeply curious about the perceptiveness of someone who'd notice enough detail to write about things like this at all. The way they described each character's motives through the insecurities of the other... holy shit.
After reading, I purposely resisted the urge to pull out my phone. I'd recognized how activated I'd been and wanted to sit with it a bit without interruption. I wish I could tell you I went for a long walk or maybe journaled my thoughts out—I didn't. I got walled off by an abnormally hard day. So it's a good thing tomorrow's a new one.
But how cool is it that while everyone's arguing on social media about AI generated content, there are still writers out there who can remind you of just how human you are?
Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
109/365
When's the last time you read something that punched you in the gut, good or bad?
onward.
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