Rainer Maria Rilke said that when you have nothing to write about, you should write about solitude. But I have a new theory. When you have nothing to write about, then write about the energy around you.
Yesterday, I finally made it to some new places. I walked on the Santa Monica Pier with friends. The energy on the pier was sublime. A man clothed as Jesus played classic rock on an electric guitar. One minute smelled of cotton candy and the next of churros.
My sister and I stood under the ferris wheel in Pacific Park. We contemplated whether we wanted to spend the $8 to ride it or save the money for better groceries. I just said, “Maybe another day.”
Later, some family friends took us out to eat at a restaurant called “The Misfit” on Santa Monica Boulevard. The food was good and the sea salt chocolate chip cookies were even better. And while we ate, tall, thin couples passed by with gelled-back hair and smokey eyes, wearing stilettos as thin as their legs and an attitude that I couldn’t quite place.
On the not-so distant promenade, a man played love songs on a weepy violin. A melancholy liveliness swept over my nerves, and I started to think of someone that I didn’t want to think about, but couldn’t quite force out of my mind.
We walked on the Promenade around 11 pm and one person commented on “the energy, the creative energy,” of LA and Santa Monica. I wasn’t feeling creativity, but I was feeling energy.