The Faucet That Didn’t Work

The other morning, I turned on the tap and nothing happened.

No water. No shower. No shaving. No brushing my teeth. No flushing the toilet. Ugh. Suddenly, my comfortable little home in the Kawarthas felt a lot more like a rustic campsite.

Apparently, the water system was being shut down for maintenance. It happens from time to time around here. One of the realities of living in cottage country is that you occasionally discover just how much of modern life depends on something you rarely think about until it’s gone.

Fortunately, I had filled a couple of two-liter water bottles the night before. Pure luck. I also had some leftover coffee from yesterday that could be reheated. Not ideal, perhaps, but when the alternative is no coffee at all, yesterday’s coffee starts looking pretty good.

So there I was, sitting at home working, rationing water as if I were preparing for an expedition into the wilderness rather than a typical Wednesday morning.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, a blog idea appeared. That’s usually how it happens. Not when I’m staring at a blank screen, telling myself I need something to write about, or when I am searching through a news feed looking for inspiration. Neither does it happen when I try to force it. 

The ideas almost always arrive when I’m busy doing something else. I’ve noticed this pattern for years. A walk by the lake becomes a reflection on why people are drawn to water. A couple of loud patrons at a restaurant turns into a piece about public behavior. Watching bartenders and servers work through a busy evening or weekend becomes a story about rhythm, routine and professionalism. Tourists taking photos of places I pass every day becomes a reflection on the difference between visiting somewhere and actually living there.

None of those moments arrived with a flashing sign that said, “Future blog post.” At the time, they were just ordinary moments with the meaning showing up later. 

I think that’s because writing, at least the kind of writing I enjoy most, isn’t really about ideas. It’s about observation. The world is constantly handing us material. Most of us just don’t notice it because we’re too busy looking for something bigger.

We think inspiration should arrive like a lightning bolt. Sometimes it does but way more often than not, it arrives disguised as a broken faucet. 

When I first started writing all those years ago, aside from corporate writing that has to follow a certain style, I assumed successful writers sat down every day and generated brilliant ideas on command. After all, that’s what professionals do, right? The longer I’ve been doing this, the less I believe that, because the best ideas tend to sneak up on you: they arrive while you are people-watching, walking, going to the gym, waiting for a corporate assignment, and just living your life without trying to document it.  

That’s one reason I enjoy writing slice-of-life pieces so much. They force me to pay attention. The world becomes more interesting when you’re looking for stories rather than headlines. And at the same time, you are just being. 

A noisy dam separating two lakes prompts a thought about why people find water calming, even though it’s often loud. A group of tourists photographing a local landmark becomes a reminder that people travel hundreds of kilometers to see what you see every day. A water outage becomes an appreciation of modern plumbing and a lesson about creativity.

It’s not exactly the sort of thing they teach in journalism school, but it’s true.

Some of my favorite pieces began with the smallest observations. The challenge isn’t finding ideas; it is noticing them. That’s why I don’t worry when I don’t have anything to write about at the moment.  Experience has taught me that several ideas are already on their way.

Maybe it’ll come from overhearing a conversation on a patio or watching a guy fish on a boat on a lake. It may happen while I’m grocery shopping or seeing a car drive by. Or maybe, like the other day, it’ll appear while standing in front of a faucet that refuses to cooperate. The water eventually came back on. I took my shower, shaved, brushed my teeth, and forgot all about the inconvenience.

But the idea it sparked will stick around a little longer. It is funny how that works. 

Sometimes the most ordinary moments end up giving us stories. And sometimes all it takes is a morning without running water to remind us that inspiration tends to show up when we’re not looking for it.