Dig, Deep

Can't Start A Fire Without A Spark

Elena read her story in class.

It was about something I can't remember. Some barely disguised version of herself going on and on about some trivial event from her childhood.

It didn't ring true. No one wanted to tell her. Because we all liked her.

But this piece was horrible. It didn't mean anything. It felt like a huge monument to nothing.

But no one wanted to tell her.

When we went around the room, no one spoke.

So the professor had to sum up what we were all thinking.




"I know it has a lot of meaning to you," he said gently. "Because you bring all your experiences, all your feelings, all your past, into it. But the rest of us... we're outside. And from the outside, it doesn't seem important."

She bit her lip. "But this is what happened," Elena objected.

"Dig. Deeper," he said.

She turned away. "You could be on the verge of something. Something important. But you have to make us see it. Make us feel it."

Her eyes teared up. She seemed opened her mouth to speak. But nothing came out.

So she ran out of the room. And dropped the class.



Years later, I ran into her. Randomly. In a coffee shop.

And we had a nice talk.

Eventually circling back to that day in that class.

And all she could remember were the details of her story. Which still meant nothing to me.

And all I could think about was her biting her lip. And starting to cry. And running out.

One event.

Two frameworks.

Each one sticking with a different person. For different reasons.

Dig.