Hi. How's it goin?
Yes, yes, I'm still here. Although nothing in my life feels settled and everything has undergone major changes in the last four months, my first thought is to say that things are just the same around here. That's weird, but true. (This is why the kids need to stop watching so much television.) I feel that today I should pay some dues to this blog. After I began typing up the post, I realized that I missed my third year blog birthday/anniversary by seven days. Have I really been writing in this space for three years? That's the second weird but true statement in seven measly sentences...
Although myself, my writing, and content sharing have undergone many transitions (more than I've probably ever let on) since its inception, this blog has served to connect and reconnect me with people. It's strange and amazing, and at times those shared moments were what I was looking for. This past weekend I was visited by a thoughtful, kind, friend (she writes a beautiful blog) who, in a past life, came to my 12th birthday party (where, she reminded me, we scrapbooked for our activity 1. This is on the list of things that reveal where I grew up and 2. This also let's you in on just how cool I was in middle school. I appreciate that anyone humored me enough to show up). As someone who hasn't kept in touch with more than a handful of people from the past, who hasn't lived in the same area for long enough to run into folks, I have to ask myself how does that even happen? Oddly enough, my answer is: through blogging. I hadn't seen her in over seven years, our lives are different as can be, and hanging out for four days felt totally normal. This I credit to the realness in the connections of shared writing. Real enough to show up at your door at 7AM on a rainy Thursday.
Writing is one of the most intimate ways to communicate. It's why reading the book is always better than watching the movie. When done honestly and intentionally, it's like standing stripped and naked before your audience. On the receiving end it feels like a quiet, trusted secret, a baring of souls. I think people are exponentially more self-conscious of this as they comfortably build up the safety buffers in their highly-edited, retouched, contrived, online profile lives. I am pressed to think of a time I've seen a person more panic stricken than when someone was about to read what they had written without permission. In my school days, the majority of my peers would never allow anyone to edit their papers. They weren't as concerned with becoming better writers as they were with maintaining their dignity in privacy. Countless notes scrawled with the sacred, "For your eyes only" have passed through my fingertips, the smudged contents carefully read only after they had been wedged safely in the shelter of a dark desk. This process of externalizing what is inherently internal draws human hearts together.
So it was because of idea sharing and emailing that I spent all weekend like a 15 year old girl, staying up until 2AM chatting and laughing about the serious and the nonsensical. I spent days wandering villages and parks and neighborhood shops, seeing the buildings and writings and art of the geniuses we admire. We spent hours in cafes and restaurants indulgently snacking on the buttery, the fatty, the bready. (One night I only ate cheese for dinner...)
I know I don't make a very good guide to the city as I'm still getting lost all the time. Couple that with all the weekend construction and you'll see that a few of the plans were foiled, but for me, the change in pace and socialization was so enjoyable. The blog once again providing just what I was looking for. And on that note I thank you, Sissy Jupe. You've been awfully sweet to me.
Tell me, why do you blog or read blogs?