When I read other people’s writings, my mind comes alive and I savor every linguistic nuance that they attach to their words and pictures.

When I walk into other peoples’ classrooms, my eyes dart back and forth noticing all of the intricate details, hours labored over every single cuing system and procedural arrangement. I notice the stylistic choices and artistic endeavors they took on to create 4 industrial walls into a cozy space.

When I visit others’ homes, I notice the touches of home, the casual mess that shows it’s lived in, and the organization that shows they have put their personal touch on the space. The choices in furniture, color, layout.

When I interact with others, I notice their vocal tendencies, the ways their eyes glaze over you and meet your eyes for a second too long or short or just right, the way they linger over certain topics and their hearts ignite with the passions and joys that they hold.

When I peek into each of these areas of peoples’ dwellings, I see style. I see beauty and artistry that has gone into creating these spaces.

Yet, often times, when I think about my own writing, my own classroom, my own home, or my own personality, it’s hard for me to even recognize myself as someone with my own unique style. I feel generic, plain, and mediocre. Everything around me and in me has become normal. I’ve grown used to it, that I don’t even see the beauty in who I was created to be and the beauty that I was inspired to create. I don’t appreciate the style that I have because it has become background noise and the disruptions of inconveniences, mess, and imperfections seem to take the melody over what has seemingly always been there.

I guess this means I step back. Or, I look closer for the images of my efforts and creativity. Or, I add on and take away and revise my environments making it shout more of me and less of mediocrity. Do I even have a style? Am I void of a style and is my writing simply just random thoughts on a screen or on a paper? Am I creating art in my classroom, home, or journal? Or am I just simply existing and accepting?

As lethargic as my body often feels on an early morning, I pray that the creativity, innovation, and imagination that once drove me will not become lethargic. Maybe this is why I have to keep moving, keep taking steps – no matter how small – because without that type of movement in style, it’s as if my style has faded into the background.

How would you describe your style? What do you notice most in others’ styles? How do you define style?


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