Where does my inspiration to write come from? It’s difficult to explain. It’s like when I take a moment to step back and look inside myself and the type of person that I am and what makes me tick, it makes me consider how other people feel and function in their everyday lives, whether they’re aware of it or not. How you operate — subconsciously and consciouly — ultimately shapes the perspective that carries you throughout day-to-day actions. What and how I write, at the core, is based on that idea. Because how can you make observations and statements about life and the people around you unless you have some sort of self-awareness?
A dark purple sky hangs overhead, stars glazed and twinkling in the moonlight. The town is illuminated by distinct signs of life: cars driving through neighborhoods, lights pouring out of kitchen windows, sounds of a small plane ascending overhead. The faint sound of my friend’s guitar fills the silence as we sit on a bench on the edge of a hill. We sit side-by-side, legs crossed and eyes up at the sky. It feels like we’re on the edge of the sublime, untouchable observers in our own corner of the world.
“Do you think there are people that go through college without ever stressing? Besides tests and grades — do you really think people are happy?” they ask, breaking the silence.
“Probably,” I say, peeling my eyes away from the stars. I glance at the ground, the question pulling me back to the present.
There’s a pause.
“Are you happy?”