Let’s be honest… I’m a few posts behind myself. I’m ok with that. I keep little collections of images in folders, each named some sort of idea to jog my mind for a future post. And, when I sit down to write, I get to look through those and get a quick dose of “oh yeah, that’s what we did last week!” … or two weeks ago. That’s the trouble with recording what happens — you either spend all your time recording and nothing new happens or you spend so much time Happening that you never Record!
Fitz and I have run into this problem a lot actually because we’re both fascinated with the Recording part of Life… We both love writing — playing with language, bending words into thoughts, teasing out meaning that only starts existing once pen is put to paper. And we love taking pictures — a shadowed glimpse into silenced moments, fragments of our lives or others’, usually disjointed but so elegantly framed! We like engaging with what has finished, celebrating that with other people, and keeping a piece of it to giggle about a year from now. But, at the same time, we try to avoid the deluge of technology that streams through our culture these days, despising the way it intrinsically links and divides our generation in the same nanosecond. So I hesitate every time I publish a blog article, link it to my Facebook, and blast my most recent Recording of what has Happened into the unsuspecting world. It’s weird.
Yes, simply put: blogging is weird. I address an unknown crowd of an undetermined size about my life as if, by pushing “publish,” it holds value. I sense I’m feeling what true published authors grapple with but it seems slightly different: the transient, throw-away nature of blogging versus the more meticulous, crafted lead up to a published work of art. Do I write for the Reader? Or do I write for Myself? Or do I write because I love it — for the joy it brings me in the moment, for the summary and giggles Future Me and Future Fitz can enjoy, and for the accountability pushing “publish” gives the experience? I’d never write these words or fully articulate these thoughts if it wasn’t for this weird blog monster I’ve harnessed. I write because of space, both the space it fills and the space it allows. Come to think of it, I dance for the same reasons.
Hmmmm… Without meaning to, I’ve just stumbled back to a poem I discovered last week. A poem and a poet. Mark Strand. He just passed away at the end of November, at age 80, after an absurdly poetic career as a poet, of all things! I am just getting to know his work after reading an interview in which he commented that he hoped he’d be read after he died — but that, then again, it would be irrelevant to him at that point.
“Keeping Things Whole”
I part the air
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been.
We all have reasons
to keep things whole.