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| When In Doubt | Jul '09 |
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| By Cliff Robertson |
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Everyone I suspect has heard of or experienced "writer's block." That point where the brain cells go off-track, and suddenly you are aware that they have left their station. They are not responding to your orders or commands or prayers. But in spite of your ego, you are not in keen possession of your thoughts. That suddenly you are dumb or dumber than you ever realized. That for the life of you, you can't come up with an idea. Not even one idea of what to write about. You are facing a deadline and you are in high denial. That which previously came automatically, instantly, is not behaving as it should. Rather than panic, you recognize that this has happened before. That for no apparent reason, you can't come up with an answer for your deadline and the paper goes to press very soon.
Rather than slash my wrist, I have found in the past that you can be saved by a number of things. There's always the cigarette—happy you gave that up years ago. There's the "loo" (or bathroom), but that is not evident. There's the open window with the fresh air which you tried five minutes before. There's the dropping of the head between the knees for brain and blood circulation. There's the razor blade, but you're too young to die. And, of course, there's always prayer, but you don't deserve its help, and you are not prepared to have the man in the white suit lead you to the clinic. No, there appears no solution to your dilemma.
Your cat, sitting solemnly in the corner, watches knowingly. I look at Halsey, for that's his name, pleading for a sign. Some kind of sign that will lift me out of my sink hole. He gives me a wink and suddenly he seems to say: "You idiot. You stupid human. Why so hapless? There's no need to panic. Just 'cool it'—relax, cool it. How many times have I told you to follow my directions? Look at me—I'm a feline, and though I'm not a celebrity of any sort, I do have innate powers. I learned from my ancestors eons before. Don't sweat it. Never let them see you sweat it. Never let them see you're uncool. Keep up your image. Your nerves are impervious. This too shall pass. Just cool it."
My cat gives me one last look of disdain, flicks his tail and proceeds to his station by the window. He looks back at me for my reaction. He's done it again, my feline roommate. He has dismissed me. My presence, my impotence, my frustrations, and after a moment, he seems to soften and walks slowly toward me. He looks at me with understanding, rubs his chin against my ankle and emits a small purr of sympathy.
He seems to be talking."You silly old fool," he says. "I thought you were cooler than that. Haven't you learned by now how to avoid panic? It's an attitude—strictly an attitude you must have. You must not let these human weaknesses get you down. Be it the telephone interruptions. Be it the dipping stock market. Be it the political engineering. Be it the economy. Be it the gloom and doomers. Or be it the international crisis. Be not defeated, at least that's what I do," he purred. "That's what I do." He continued his admonition.
"I refuse to be defeated for I come from a family of ancient fine felines, and I have been blessed with their wisdom—their tricks and maneuvers, and I have survived. We cats have survived forever. We are the ultimate survivors."
I listened intently and finally said to Halsey, "But what's the answer Halse?" I pleaded. "What's the answer?" I repeated.
After a moment, Halsey looked at me with caring cat eyes and seemed to say, "You silly old soul—just do as we cats do when we are in doubt."
"What's that?" I pleaded.
"What do we do when in doubt? You, kind master, just do as I do when in doubt."
"What?" I cried.
He paused a long moment and then said, "When in doubt, wash."
With that, he began to lick his furry body with calm deliberation knowing that this moment of crisis would soon pass.
That was some time ago, but like so many dilemmas in life, I learned a certain truth in the behavior of our animal friends. Yes, even if we are flying, I have tried successfully to remember not to panic in moments of near emergency. I have tried to remember to (number one) fly the airplane—believe the instruments and keep your cool. In so doing, you can survive. But don't be distracted; keep on flying.
I looked over at Halsey. He seemed to kind of wink for a brief moment and then went back to washing.
Academy Award and Emmy Award winning screen star Cliff Robertson has owned and flown a wide array of aircraft, including a Spitfire MK IX, a Messerschmitt Me 108, a French aerobatic Stampe SV4 biplane, a Grob Astir glider (in which he still holds a distance record) and a Beech Baron 58. A holder of single, multi, instrument and commercial licenses, as well as balloon, the pilot of many thousands of hours has accumulated many aviation awards, including EAA's highest Eagle award and the AOPA Sharples Award. He was inducted into the National Aviation Hall of Fame, and the American Veteran Association has honored him as Veteran of the Year. His columns will appear in his soon-to-be-published book. For more information, visit www.cliffrobertson.info.
Sharon Wright
August 20, 2009 23:26 | Yes, I have writers block now. I've been writing my memoirs of my growing up in Hermosa Beach, CA after WWII. Another Hermosian native wrote of his experiences during WWII at our beach town. His name is Scott Littleton and his descriptions of his family experiences during the war are fascinating. My cat is not very helpful. All she wants to do is play with feathers. Not wise at all. What I find helpful is research and picture albums. That is about all I can recommend. Be well.
Sharon |
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