On the way to, and coming from, my destinations, I traveled through the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul. I never left the airport though, but I watched intently as we flew across the Mississippi and over flaming red countryside.

I pondered, for the most part, about inspiration. When does inspiration work? How does it hit you? And, can it replace motive? When am I working inspired and when am I doing something out of other, more banal, reasons? Such as guilt or need?

Operating on the notion that inspiration is rare and ought to yield something pretty big, I looked back at the things that I did in my lifetime that, well, I considered pretty big. That's pretty much where the pondering ended. I'm not too sure I've done something inspired yet. At least, not since I was a kid.

So I looked at all the things others have done which I thought would have definitely been inspired. Wrote a novel. Climbed a mountain. I think you might need oodles of motivation to write a dissertation, but looking for inspiration to do the same is like waiting for the moon to turn blue (or England to win the World Cup). I think inspiration would have to be some kind of "force" pushing you -- it's not something that comes naturally in oneself, rather, it comes externally and pushes you forward. When was the last time I felt an external force inspire me?