In kindergarten, I wanted to be a policewoman not just because of the cool uniform, but really because I found the idea of using a nightstick extremely amusing. Then time pushed forward and I was in third grade, and my dream job had changed from being a policewoman to a chemist, because I was interested in seeing what chemicals I could possibly combine to create an explosion, and what sorts of colors I could make those explosions be. Now that I think about it, I was a rather violent child. Or odd. Or perhaps a little both.
Anyways, then a brick hit me in the head. Not a real brick, might I add, but an invisible one that flew at me like an arrow with a purpose and generally had the same effect. It had taken me completely off guard and ‘blew my mind’ in the sense that it made me ask myself incredulously, “How did I not see this before? What have I been doing this entire time? How much time have I wasted?” This happened around fourth grade or so, where I had written my first story with a friend of mine. It was after the story was completed and printed that the invisible hands of fate had thrown that brick at my head. From this, I learned that I believe in the brick of realization. It was because of this special brick that knocked ever so abruptly against my skull that I realized that I didn’t want to be a policewoman or a chemist, but a writer.
I’ve been hit with many invisible bricks afterwards. So many, in fact, that I’m surprised I don’t have an equally as invisible concussion. These aren’t just any old invisible pieces of ammunition for fate, however. These bricks have a source, which is the large, brick wall that all of us come across at one point or another as we mosey our way down the winding path of life. We can just be walking along and then suddenly, bam, we hit a wall. And we’ll stare at it. Think about it. And then that wall will fling a brick at us that will kick our heads back into gear. And suddenly, that brick will make us realize how to pass through this wall, problem, and barrier, and we will find a way to move on. Even Isaac Newton had had his run-in with the brick of realization. I’m sure, however, he was happy that his came in the form of a falling apple from a tree, and not an actual brick. It’s odd enough to imagine getting hit with a brick, but for it to fall from a tree would be pretty bizarre, too.
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