Lackluster

The luster wears off, which is unfortunate, but inevitable. You can walk through downtown Chicago, twice a day, everyday, and not see it. Preoccupied with your own thoughts you can auto-pilot from work to home and back again. Some of us are further trapped in our own heads than others. Some of us are trapped in memories, which is unfortunate, too.

But if we didn’t adjust, conform, fall into these habits, it wouldn’t be so magnificent when something breaks the norm (not that all change is magnificent—some change is simply heartbreaking). For instance, Tuesday and Wednesday this week, a rare pocket of sunshine interrupted the gloomy gray days we’ve been having. I was lucky to have a late morning doctor’s appointment on Tuesday, located about a 15-minute walk from the office. As I trekked up Michigan Ave., the sunshine felt glorious. That giddy sensation of springtime, when those first beautiful days penetrate the winter gloom, started to stir inside me. I remember thinking that I probably wouldn’t feel like this again until April.

The city was enchanting, engulfed in sunlight. My love for Chicago was again ignited, watching the light fall like a blanket, illuminating the tops of buildings. My daily routine, like the clouds, was broken, and it was a welcome change.

Plus, there’s something so satisfying in seeing all the cameras. Watching the tourists on Michigan Ave. with their cameras angled upward, outward, forward, backward, at the city all around them—they remind me how blessed I am to be living here, in a city coveted by so many. I didn’t want to go back to work. I wanted to mosey about with the tourists, pose for pictures by the river, drift in and out of shops, weave in and out of the sparse, non-rush-hour traffic.

It occurs to me that I haven’t taken a day off since I started working in May. And since then I’ve taken on a variety of freelance writing projects in my spare time. During the summer I didn’t feel it so much. But when the sunshine fades away into the shady cool of autumn, you start to feel the weight. I’m not sure why that is, exactly. Maybe it’s the sheer lack of sun. Maybe it’s the heavy layers of clothing.

I don’t really feel like I need a vacation, and routine is okay with me—in fact, I’m pretty sure I prefer it. But I’ve been feeling uninspired, lately. That, I’m not okay with. Blogging gives me a great deal of pleasure, but I refuse write a new blog post purely because I’m getting behind with it. I’ve forced posts in the past, and when I go back and read them, they are always the least satisfying, and most poorly crafted vignettes. But I am wondering where all of my inspiration has gone. There’s not much I can do, however. You can force it about as well as you can force the sun to come out.