JOHN SAAVEDRA, JR.
Contributor

The last couple of weeks have reminded me of the connections we make with people. Sometimes these connections are subtle. I hear myself thinking, “Well, he/she seems like a nice person. I’d like to hang out with him/her sometime.” Other times we see people we have similarities with. We see the artist within ourselves when we look at them or talk to them. We see the person we have been aiming to be and for others to see all along. It’s always a good feeling when you are compatible with someone, alike with someone.
Another realization is the fact that human beings are like spontaneous sparks of light. They are constantly rushing in and out of our lives, passing by us at mind-boggling speed. Most of these small lights barely stop to say, “Hello,” or “Sorry for bumping into you.” Human beings are constantly flickering on and off in their own private suns.
This is the sweet moment: I have found many of these people in the past two months. They are writers, musicians, poets, artists, smokers, laughers, runners, scientists, people that like to stare. Blue-eyed beauties with a tinge of green. People who like to hug and kiss on the cheek. Those abnormal people who will share angel food cake with you, not worrying about the germ-crazed factoids surrounding us or the swine flu scare. These are my people. My friends. These are the people I want to hold hands with and march into the next day.
Not to flatter—or pity—myself, but: Writing is a lonely business. It almost equates to being an undertaker. Both of these individuals turn to the silence and emptiness in their professions as company. The writer and the undertaker try to build images, whether it is on paper or a face. There are barely any lights in the workroom of a writer, besides perhaps a desk lamp or the dim light of the monitor (why doesn’t anyone use typewriters anymore?). So it is amazing when someone comes along and shines a bit of extra light on you. These rare but beautiful moments have come to me in the form of writing sessions, those strange occasions that occur almost against our will because writers can be such loners. More than once, I’ve sat down with someone, our laptops facing each other, the clicking of each other’s keyboards relaxing one another. That symbolic clicking gives us the one reassurance we can have as young writers in a hailstorm: we are not alone. And what comes out of that feeling of companionship is something very beautiful. A poem, a story, an essay, an energetic article that says, “Look out world! I’m not afraid to speak my mind!” Perhaps these moments can even give us a glimpse into what the creative process really is. Maybe we are not inspired by loneliness, but by the thought that we are able to make a connection with something. Some of us write to make a connection with others. Another writer might write to make a connection with him/herself. Either way, there are connections to be made. We are like the swarm of ladybugs clinging on to the Mansion in the fall: cold and looking for a home.
What have I learned from this overwhelming melting pot of experience constantly being dropped over my head? Some lights flicker on around us and somehow—I have no doubt this is one of the small miracles that make the human condition such a wonderful experience—make our own light even brighter.