Some people just don't want to be found.
In the years since my mother passed away, I've become obsessed with learning about my roots. As a person whose family tree loses certainty around the early 1900s, it's been very hard to complete a thorough search. Though my curiosity returns frequently, it loses steam just as quickly as it gains traction. Because no matter my enthusiasm for the search, some parts of my family's past are so shrouded in mystery that it's practically impossible to unearth them.
The last time I saw or heard from my maternal grandfather was in 2008. It was at my mother's funeral. I remember him looking very small. The last picture of him in my memory is at the cemetery service. Standing on the green hillside, he seemed unstable, as if any moment he might collapse into the grass. Whether from grief or old age, he didn't possess a strong veneer of grace.
At the time I didn't think that would be the last I'd hear from him. But as the years passed, I came to realize that what was always a quiet and unassuming relationship would soon wither into nothing.
As with so many other acquaintances, my grandfather disappeared from my life. It happened in an instant, but it didn't hit me until much later.
Occasionally, I send out search signals in the hopes that I might find him again. But knowing his absence from my mother's life growing up, and seeing how little he cared to keep in touch with me after her passing, I feel all hope is lost.
The long lost relatives do not start and end with my maternal grandfather. One of the greatest mysteries of my life is that of my paternal grandfather's father. From what I've been told, he was a Polish immigrant and the black sheep of his family. The stories of his past stop there.
With genealogy research, I've concocted conspiracy theories but never found any solid answers.
And through these experiences, it's become quite clear to me how sometimes the people who go missing do so of their own volition.
These men I've spent my life wondering about and searching for disappeared not due to lack of adequate record-keeping. They chose not to be found and therefore became lost.
In the age of social media, I feel it has become easier than ever to not be forgotten. By tweeting and sharing and commenting and posting, I've put myself in a position of being seen. My existence is documented. Being found is now as simple as tagging your location on Twitter or including your phone number on your Facebook profile. Because of this ease, many of us make the conscious effort to ensure that we are found.
I'm thankful for the people I've lost who have let themselves be found. As we pass through our lives, most of our acquaintances will become lost at some point or another. Even our closest relatives may disappear with the passing of time.
While it may be hard to accept mystery, it is necessary sometimes to simply let go of the people who refuse to be discovered. Stop searching for them and instead place that energy into reuniting with those who are eager to be in your life, into the people who want to be found.
They're the ones who deserve to be seen anyway.
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Friday, December 5, 2014
The floodgates are open
I think I must have been born to tell stories. That isn't to say I have some god-given talent for it, or that I can claim to be any sort of exceptional writer. But I still feel it must be true. Nothing in my life has ever felt so natural, or so necessary. When I feel something, anything, I find myself compelled to share it - and the only way I know how is through stories.
And that's been the root of my problem.
Storytellers are sharers by nature. We long for listeners, begging for the ears of our friends. We become overzealous and sometimes even obnoxious as we shower our neighbors in tales of our experiences.
The act of storytelling isn't in itself a bad thing. In fact, it's mostly good. I've always prided myself in being able to clearly explain myself through stories. It's the only way I've ever been able to write a successful term paper, or take part in an interesting conversation.
Where the problem begins is where storytelling turns into over-sharing, a personal affliction I have become deeply infected with.
You know over-sharers as the people in your life who can't help but vent and vent and vent. We who like to tell stories often unwittingly step over the boundary between being open and opening the floodgates. Once the floodgates are open, there's little we can do to close them back up again.
For some, there is the luxury of a gatekeeper who knows how and when to maintain those floodgates. In my life, I've had less than a handful of these people. To them, I am extremely grateful.
In those times when the gatekeeper is off duty, it becomes our - the floodgate storyteller's - responsibility to tame the wild waters of our stories.
To my mind, the best way to tackle this is to share stories on paper. To achieve a catharsis this way is to evenly distribute the water so that it doesn't flood, so much as let the land before us blossom and flourish.
As I write here again, several months since my last The Songs of Spring entry, I am making an attempt to gently open the gates and let my thoughts swim about - not as a flood for the willing listener, but as a stream to those who may be too sensitive to handle the flood.
In other words, I'm back to blogging. And it is my intention to keep the gates open for a steady stream of stories to flow through - for 365 days (give or take a few).
And that's been the root of my problem.
Storytellers are sharers by nature. We long for listeners, begging for the ears of our friends. We become overzealous and sometimes even obnoxious as we shower our neighbors in tales of our experiences.
The act of storytelling isn't in itself a bad thing. In fact, it's mostly good. I've always prided myself in being able to clearly explain myself through stories. It's the only way I've ever been able to write a successful term paper, or take part in an interesting conversation.
Where the problem begins is where storytelling turns into over-sharing, a personal affliction I have become deeply infected with.
You know over-sharers as the people in your life who can't help but vent and vent and vent. We who like to tell stories often unwittingly step over the boundary between being open and opening the floodgates. Once the floodgates are open, there's little we can do to close them back up again.
For some, there is the luxury of a gatekeeper who knows how and when to maintain those floodgates. In my life, I've had less than a handful of these people. To them, I am extremely grateful.
In those times when the gatekeeper is off duty, it becomes our - the floodgate storyteller's - responsibility to tame the wild waters of our stories.
To my mind, the best way to tackle this is to share stories on paper. To achieve a catharsis this way is to evenly distribute the water so that it doesn't flood, so much as let the land before us blossom and flourish.
As I write here again, several months since my last The Songs of Spring entry, I am making an attempt to gently open the gates and let my thoughts swim about - not as a flood for the willing listener, but as a stream to those who may be too sensitive to handle the flood.
In other words, I'm back to blogging. And it is my intention to keep the gates open for a steady stream of stories to flow through - for 365 days (give or take a few).
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
To My Poppy
What will you leave behind?
At only 21 years old, the impermanence of life doesn't often cross my mind. It takes a big moment, a life-changing one, to serve as a reminder that now does not mean the same thing as forever.
My grandfather passed away this weekend. With him living in Florida, I was far away from the situation. As a result, the reality of his declining health didn't quite hit me until I heard the news of his passing on Monday.
Now, thinking back on my Poppy, the only grandfather I've truly known due to the absence of my maternal grandfather for most of my life, I feel this great mixture of feelings. Sorrow for his loss, pride in his achievements, happiness at the beautiful life he led, plus something that is harder to put into words - the closest description being "cheated."
My grandfather lived a long and fruitful life. At 92, he saw the birth of six grandchildren and even two great-grandchildren (one of whom, my firecracker of a niece, was named after him). But in all the years I knew him, I still felt like there was so much more to know.
This morning I read a beautiful eulogy written by my dad for my Poppy's funeral. I offered to do what I could to enable its dissemination, copying it down into my computer so that it could be printed, saving it so that it would never become lost with the passing of time.
There are things about my Poppy that I know backwards and forwards. His sense of humor being the main one. His jokes became ingrained in my personal phrasebook. One of his oft-repeated quips, "my nose runs and my feet smell," has occurred to me multiple times in the past 24 hours.
But today, as I read through the eulogy and contemplated on the loss of such a compassionate, silly and wonderful man, what I kept thinking about was how much more I wish I'd known him.
There are so many questions that occur to you when it's too late to ask them. Questions about the past, about his past specifically. I wonder about his life, things that only he knew that he'll never be able to answer now that he's gone. I wish, at the very least, that I'd been able to tell him more how much I loved him. Living far away, it was hard not to feel detached from him for most of the year. But despite the distance, his impact was enormous. He's one of the few influential men in my life, and one of the main reasons that I believe (despite many experiences to the contrary) that there are good men in the world.
At this point, knowing that there's nothing more I can do but feel love for him and remember the beautiful things that my Poppy left for me, a broader question comes to me. What can I do to keep his memory alive? What can any of us do to keep our memory alive?
One day, we will all pass. Hopefully most of us in a peaceful state, unburdened by the knowledge that our loss will sadden those we love. But while we are all still here, we should charge ourselves with something more than just living.
We should do what we can to keep our memories alive. To share them with others and to let others share theirs with us. Never miss an opportunity to ask questions or give answers. Never hold back the stories that someone, somewhere would love to hear. Tell your loved ones exactly how you feel about them.
I don't plan to leave this world behind any time soon. But when I do, I hope someone will love me with enough of his or her heart to express feelings as affectionate as what my dad wrote for my Poppy.
All we really need in life is the love of others. More than fame, money, power, material goods. We thrive in life through the connections we make. My Poppy, even in the limited time I was able to spend with him, impacted me with his joy and his unflinching bravery. He lived a life that many can only dream to live - one of simple, unadulterated love. He loved his family, he loved his life. And for that, he was loved.
I can only hope that I will leave behind love as well.
At only 21 years old, the impermanence of life doesn't often cross my mind. It takes a big moment, a life-changing one, to serve as a reminder that now does not mean the same thing as forever.
My grandfather passed away this weekend. With him living in Florida, I was far away from the situation. As a result, the reality of his declining health didn't quite hit me until I heard the news of his passing on Monday.
Now, thinking back on my Poppy, the only grandfather I've truly known due to the absence of my maternal grandfather for most of my life, I feel this great mixture of feelings. Sorrow for his loss, pride in his achievements, happiness at the beautiful life he led, plus something that is harder to put into words - the closest description being "cheated."
My grandfather lived a long and fruitful life. At 92, he saw the birth of six grandchildren and even two great-grandchildren (one of whom, my firecracker of a niece, was named after him). But in all the years I knew him, I still felt like there was so much more to know.
This morning I read a beautiful eulogy written by my dad for my Poppy's funeral. I offered to do what I could to enable its dissemination, copying it down into my computer so that it could be printed, saving it so that it would never become lost with the passing of time.
There are things about my Poppy that I know backwards and forwards. His sense of humor being the main one. His jokes became ingrained in my personal phrasebook. One of his oft-repeated quips, "my nose runs and my feet smell," has occurred to me multiple times in the past 24 hours.
But today, as I read through the eulogy and contemplated on the loss of such a compassionate, silly and wonderful man, what I kept thinking about was how much more I wish I'd known him.
There are so many questions that occur to you when it's too late to ask them. Questions about the past, about his past specifically. I wonder about his life, things that only he knew that he'll never be able to answer now that he's gone. I wish, at the very least, that I'd been able to tell him more how much I loved him. Living far away, it was hard not to feel detached from him for most of the year. But despite the distance, his impact was enormous. He's one of the few influential men in my life, and one of the main reasons that I believe (despite many experiences to the contrary) that there are good men in the world.
At this point, knowing that there's nothing more I can do but feel love for him and remember the beautiful things that my Poppy left for me, a broader question comes to me. What can I do to keep his memory alive? What can any of us do to keep our memory alive?
One day, we will all pass. Hopefully most of us in a peaceful state, unburdened by the knowledge that our loss will sadden those we love. But while we are all still here, we should charge ourselves with something more than just living.
We should do what we can to keep our memories alive. To share them with others and to let others share theirs with us. Never miss an opportunity to ask questions or give answers. Never hold back the stories that someone, somewhere would love to hear. Tell your loved ones exactly how you feel about them.
I don't plan to leave this world behind any time soon. But when I do, I hope someone will love me with enough of his or her heart to express feelings as affectionate as what my dad wrote for my Poppy.
All we really need in life is the love of others. More than fame, money, power, material goods. We thrive in life through the connections we make. My Poppy, even in the limited time I was able to spend with him, impacted me with his joy and his unflinching bravery. He lived a life that many can only dream to live - one of simple, unadulterated love. He loved his family, he loved his life. And for that, he was loved.
I can only hope that I will leave behind love as well.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
On VidCon: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
In 2011, I attended my first ever conference. A small YouTube fan/creator event held in the basement of a hotel in Century City - a little known gathering called VidCon. It was already a year old, and it was obvious that the event was already growing too big for its britches. Fans chased down creators like they were animal control pursuing rabid animals. I felt out of the loop because at the time I was only vaguely familiar with YouTube celebrity culture. But despite the craziness, there was still an aura of grassroots camaraderie, and that's what kept me coming back.
Now, in 2014, VidCon is more a convention than ever. With upwards of 17,000 attendees (a number I heard thrown around at VidCon and have seen in subsequent reports), what used to feel like a community event has ballooned into something much harder to define.
It seems that for those among us who have been at VidCon in one or more of the four years past, this fifth version of the Con we know and love has been a bit jarring, and I'd like to address that - along with a few ideas I have moving forward.
1. Keeping Fandom in Check
At my first VidCon, I'd only subscribed to a few channels. Since I knew so few creators at the event, I had an agenda: to meet whomever I could out of the six or so folks whom I watched regularly. In 2011, bumping into a popular YouTuber at VidCon was not unheard of. Nowadays, the same creator I met casually walking around the floor is showing up in Coca Cola commercials. YouTube stardom has grown farther than we could've imagined three or four years ago. That's thanks to us (the subscribers), but also a concern for us as we move forward.
The very essence of YouTube's greatness is as a community. Creators put up content that is engaging and personal, viewers absorb that content and connect with the creators - feeling like friends by proxy through this magical thing we call the Internet. But because the scale of YouTube has grown so exponentially, there's no feasible way to maintain the small, personal aspect of that community. Meet-ups are excellent for a quick fix, but only for those who are willing to go through the trials of standing in line for six hours. Most of us don't function well without access to the outside world for a quarter of the day, which causes a disconnect.
But to my mind, there is a solution: "Let it go." To take a now trite phrase from a beloved Disney animated film, it's time we all put things in perspective. The viewers without the patience for hours of queuing don't have to lament over the lost opportunity of meeting the more popular YouTubers, because that's not what VidCon is about anyway. More than a fan convention, this is a community event. A chance to meet creators (new, old, famous, not famous), to discover things about the craft of video production and to interact with like-minded individuals. If we find ourselves alienated by the fandoms, we needn't come face-to-face with them. VidCon is now a dichotomy - split between people who care about brushing elbows with stars and people who could care less about stardom - and we can choose which side we'd rather be on, and choose to be content with our decision.
2. Size Matters
My first VidCon had around 2,500 attendees. Compared to this year, that number is absolutely tiny. At the time it still felt huge, and even in retrospect it's an impressive number. However, it makes 17,000 seem absolutely unfathomable. That is, until you're standing outside a convention center waiting to enter a building, standing in a line of thousands of other people just as frustrated as you. Then the number feels all too real.
VidCon has grown every year and will, no doubt, continue to grow. What I hope will be addressed after this year is something that was discussed in hushed tones all around the event this year: the lack of enough options for attendees. With only two or three big panels or Q&As happening at a given time during the conference, attendees found themselves crammed into too-small rooms with too-many people (or, even worse, being shut out). This, in addition to incredibly long meet-up lines, led to a lot of disappointment for people who'd paid a great deal of money to be at this event. Rooms filled to capacity, sometimes with people who didn't even care to be in a particular panel, but who were squatting in a given room so that they could capture a good seat for the next panel on the docket. The system was unfair and unbalanced, forcing people to decide between going to all the events they'd like to or choosing to forego some in lieu of others.
If VidCon is to continue to grow in size, there will have to be more opportunities for engagement to sustain that growth. Without enough space to go around, the event seems overcrowded and stifling. And while every Con aspires to be something akin to Comic-Con in terms of buzz and popularity, is there anyone who actually enjoys the idea of being trapped in rooms with too many people, or weaving through crowds of unmoving human bodies just to get on an escalator? I think not.
3. Re-Introduce Community Building
One of my favorite panels at VidCon this year was about communities on YouTube. Some of the top creators on the platform talked about the groups of people who watch their videos, how they've channeled their influence into something they perceive as being greater than themselves.
In the first few years of VidCon, that's what the convention was all about: creators and fans convening, and essentially blurring the divide between fan and idol.
While it may be impossible at this point to integrate more famed YouTubers into the broader community, attendees of events like VidCon should make a conscious effort to step outside their roles as fans and into the space in between creator and audience. Community is the bringing together of perceived leaders and followers, into a safe space where they feel connected and engaged. Hierarchies don't need to exist in a community. YouTube has always been best when the hierarchies are removed in exchange for friendship.
I've made some of my closest friends at VidCon, and I truly believe that this is one of the most perfect places to meet like-minded people with whom community is a given. So why not pursue that? Is it more important to spend one minute talking to a "famous" YouTuber you may never see again? Or form a relationship with someone who could become your best friend for a lifetime?
4. The Golden Rule
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
This year, I stayed away from any and all drama that took place at VidCon, but being privy to the goings-on around the conference via social media, I was astonished at the catty and insensitive choices being made by people I wanted to respect.
As I see it, the YouTube community is made up of primarily awesome people. We are society's nerds and outcasts, the weirdos who don't necessarily fit into the mainstream, so we band together to find kinship with the likeminded. So, by this definition, shouldn't we unsubscribe ourselves to the petty expectations of an inherently selfish society?
Creators tweeted about being stalked to their hotel rooms, attendees were pushed out of signing lines by other attendees, security officers were being treated rudely every time they denied anyone anything.
If we all just had an ounce more respect for each other, then we wouldn't do anything to our fellow man that we wouldn't want done to us. Sure, there will always be the lowest common denominator of people who will make dumb choices like these, but as smart people (and you have to at least be somewhat technologically savvy to get involved in the YouTube community) we have an obligation to be more than that.
VidCon is first and foremost an event for the people. YouTube creators, unlike the special guests of most other conferences in the world, are not celebrities first. They are ordinary people first. And as subscribers (and people), we owe it to ourselves to respect not only them, but us. We are more than just fans, we are part of something huge. We are the backbone of a community that is growing and becoming more and more powerful as the years go on and our numbers grow.
VidCon has begun to draw big names and big sponsorships because of our enthusiasm. With the right frame of mind, we could all channel that strength into something good.
For nerdfighters, a more recognizable message might be that our responsibility at VidCon is to "decrease world suck." We represent something bigger than an individual conference/convention/what have you. We are a community. And we owe it to the greater community to represent YouTube fans in the proper light: as a respectful, kind, thoughtful and engaged group of cooperative individuals.
For me, that is what VidCon is. And at future VidCons, I hope that message becomes more evident.
For those who are interested, my YouTube channel - which I haven't updated in quite a while, but have plans to continue creating for - is thesongsofspring. Thank you for reading.
Now, in 2014, VidCon is more a convention than ever. With upwards of 17,000 attendees (a number I heard thrown around at VidCon and have seen in subsequent reports), what used to feel like a community event has ballooned into something much harder to define.
It seems that for those among us who have been at VidCon in one or more of the four years past, this fifth version of the Con we know and love has been a bit jarring, and I'd like to address that - along with a few ideas I have moving forward.
1. Keeping Fandom in Check
At my first VidCon, I'd only subscribed to a few channels. Since I knew so few creators at the event, I had an agenda: to meet whomever I could out of the six or so folks whom I watched regularly. In 2011, bumping into a popular YouTuber at VidCon was not unheard of. Nowadays, the same creator I met casually walking around the floor is showing up in Coca Cola commercials. YouTube stardom has grown farther than we could've imagined three or four years ago. That's thanks to us (the subscribers), but also a concern for us as we move forward.
The very essence of YouTube's greatness is as a community. Creators put up content that is engaging and personal, viewers absorb that content and connect with the creators - feeling like friends by proxy through this magical thing we call the Internet. But because the scale of YouTube has grown so exponentially, there's no feasible way to maintain the small, personal aspect of that community. Meet-ups are excellent for a quick fix, but only for those who are willing to go through the trials of standing in line for six hours. Most of us don't function well without access to the outside world for a quarter of the day, which causes a disconnect.
But to my mind, there is a solution: "Let it go." To take a now trite phrase from a beloved Disney animated film, it's time we all put things in perspective. The viewers without the patience for hours of queuing don't have to lament over the lost opportunity of meeting the more popular YouTubers, because that's not what VidCon is about anyway. More than a fan convention, this is a community event. A chance to meet creators (new, old, famous, not famous), to discover things about the craft of video production and to interact with like-minded individuals. If we find ourselves alienated by the fandoms, we needn't come face-to-face with them. VidCon is now a dichotomy - split between people who care about brushing elbows with stars and people who could care less about stardom - and we can choose which side we'd rather be on, and choose to be content with our decision.
2. Size Matters
My first VidCon had around 2,500 attendees. Compared to this year, that number is absolutely tiny. At the time it still felt huge, and even in retrospect it's an impressive number. However, it makes 17,000 seem absolutely unfathomable. That is, until you're standing outside a convention center waiting to enter a building, standing in a line of thousands of other people just as frustrated as you. Then the number feels all too real.
VidCon has grown every year and will, no doubt, continue to grow. What I hope will be addressed after this year is something that was discussed in hushed tones all around the event this year: the lack of enough options for attendees. With only two or three big panels or Q&As happening at a given time during the conference, attendees found themselves crammed into too-small rooms with too-many people (or, even worse, being shut out). This, in addition to incredibly long meet-up lines, led to a lot of disappointment for people who'd paid a great deal of money to be at this event. Rooms filled to capacity, sometimes with people who didn't even care to be in a particular panel, but who were squatting in a given room so that they could capture a good seat for the next panel on the docket. The system was unfair and unbalanced, forcing people to decide between going to all the events they'd like to or choosing to forego some in lieu of others.
If VidCon is to continue to grow in size, there will have to be more opportunities for engagement to sustain that growth. Without enough space to go around, the event seems overcrowded and stifling. And while every Con aspires to be something akin to Comic-Con in terms of buzz and popularity, is there anyone who actually enjoys the idea of being trapped in rooms with too many people, or weaving through crowds of unmoving human bodies just to get on an escalator? I think not.
3. Re-Introduce Community Building
One of my favorite panels at VidCon this year was about communities on YouTube. Some of the top creators on the platform talked about the groups of people who watch their videos, how they've channeled their influence into something they perceive as being greater than themselves.
In the first few years of VidCon, that's what the convention was all about: creators and fans convening, and essentially blurring the divide between fan and idol.
While it may be impossible at this point to integrate more famed YouTubers into the broader community, attendees of events like VidCon should make a conscious effort to step outside their roles as fans and into the space in between creator and audience. Community is the bringing together of perceived leaders and followers, into a safe space where they feel connected and engaged. Hierarchies don't need to exist in a community. YouTube has always been best when the hierarchies are removed in exchange for friendship.
I've made some of my closest friends at VidCon, and I truly believe that this is one of the most perfect places to meet like-minded people with whom community is a given. So why not pursue that? Is it more important to spend one minute talking to a "famous" YouTuber you may never see again? Or form a relationship with someone who could become your best friend for a lifetime?
4. The Golden Rule
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
This year, I stayed away from any and all drama that took place at VidCon, but being privy to the goings-on around the conference via social media, I was astonished at the catty and insensitive choices being made by people I wanted to respect.
As I see it, the YouTube community is made up of primarily awesome people. We are society's nerds and outcasts, the weirdos who don't necessarily fit into the mainstream, so we band together to find kinship with the likeminded. So, by this definition, shouldn't we unsubscribe ourselves to the petty expectations of an inherently selfish society?
Creators tweeted about being stalked to their hotel rooms, attendees were pushed out of signing lines by other attendees, security officers were being treated rudely every time they denied anyone anything.
If we all just had an ounce more respect for each other, then we wouldn't do anything to our fellow man that we wouldn't want done to us. Sure, there will always be the lowest common denominator of people who will make dumb choices like these, but as smart people (and you have to at least be somewhat technologically savvy to get involved in the YouTube community) we have an obligation to be more than that.
VidCon is first and foremost an event for the people. YouTube creators, unlike the special guests of most other conferences in the world, are not celebrities first. They are ordinary people first. And as subscribers (and people), we owe it to ourselves to respect not only them, but us. We are more than just fans, we are part of something huge. We are the backbone of a community that is growing and becoming more and more powerful as the years go on and our numbers grow.
VidCon has begun to draw big names and big sponsorships because of our enthusiasm. With the right frame of mind, we could all channel that strength into something good.
For nerdfighters, a more recognizable message might be that our responsibility at VidCon is to "decrease world suck." We represent something bigger than an individual conference/convention/what have you. We are a community. And we owe it to the greater community to represent YouTube fans in the proper light: as a respectful, kind, thoughtful and engaged group of cooperative individuals.
For me, that is what VidCon is. And at future VidCons, I hope that message becomes more evident.
For those who are interested, my YouTube channel - which I haven't updated in quite a while, but have plans to continue creating for - is thesongsofspring. Thank you for reading.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Looking on
Wanted: Someone to kick my butt every time I make a promise that I don't follow through on.
In February, I made a promise that I would keep up my blog, The Songs of Spring, by writing at least weekly entries. And if I missed a week here or there, I'd make up for it the following week.
Well, my last entry was at the end of March, and it seems that since then I haven't been very productive in keeping up this space. I have excuses, but it would be silly to bore you with them, so I won't. In this case, an apology is a waste of time. What isn't a waste of time is picking up where I left off, which is just writing when I need to - when it makes sense. So, right now. At this very moment.
The last couple of days have been very difficult, and they've made me think a lot about what is important in life.
Everyone who is alive has loved. If you're lucky, love is something you're born into. If you're not, it's something you must struggle to find in the most trying of situations.
I was lucky to be one of the former.
Even in the most difficult times in my life, I've known that love was somewhere to be found. And it made the tough things just a little bit more manageable.
But love also has its own troubles - as often as stories will tell us that those we love live on in our hearts even when they aren't of this Earth anymore, no one will tell you that life after loss is easy. The love that we feel for one another makes letting go that much more difficult.
I don't have to let go of anything right now, and when that occurs to me, I'm incredibly thankful. It's a comfort to know that at this very moment there is stability, that what (or rather whom) I know and love will continue to live, breathe and feel.
One day, though, and who knows how many days from now that one day will be, you and I and everyone we know will have to face the same thing: that emptiness of letting go of something beloved.
It will start with a shudder, and a feeling of confusion. Then it will transition into emptiness, of deprivation and even deeper confusion. A complete envelopment in the tragedy of the world. Why do we live to be tortured like this? But in time, those questions give way to new ones - What's next? What's past? How can I reconcile the two and make something impossible and painful into something beautiful? If we're wise, we find the answer. And we move on.
I guess what I'm trying to do right now is find the answer to that final question before I go through all the prior traumas. It is my goal to come out the other side of life's troubles as a stronger person.
I can't make sense of where I am in life right now, but I want to. I've been busy, been shying away from breaching this huge subject. It frightened me. My writing has suffered, my clarity of mind has dwindled.
So next time I break my promise, someone, I beseech you, kick me to get involved with this blog again. This is one of the only ways I've been able to find clarity in my life, in myself and in my future. And right now, that's what I need.
In February, I made a promise that I would keep up my blog, The Songs of Spring, by writing at least weekly entries. And if I missed a week here or there, I'd make up for it the following week.
Well, my last entry was at the end of March, and it seems that since then I haven't been very productive in keeping up this space. I have excuses, but it would be silly to bore you with them, so I won't. In this case, an apology is a waste of time. What isn't a waste of time is picking up where I left off, which is just writing when I need to - when it makes sense. So, right now. At this very moment.
The last couple of days have been very difficult, and they've made me think a lot about what is important in life.
Everyone who is alive has loved. If you're lucky, love is something you're born into. If you're not, it's something you must struggle to find in the most trying of situations.
I was lucky to be one of the former.
Even in the most difficult times in my life, I've known that love was somewhere to be found. And it made the tough things just a little bit more manageable.
But love also has its own troubles - as often as stories will tell us that those we love live on in our hearts even when they aren't of this Earth anymore, no one will tell you that life after loss is easy. The love that we feel for one another makes letting go that much more difficult.
I don't have to let go of anything right now, and when that occurs to me, I'm incredibly thankful. It's a comfort to know that at this very moment there is stability, that what (or rather whom) I know and love will continue to live, breathe and feel.
One day, though, and who knows how many days from now that one day will be, you and I and everyone we know will have to face the same thing: that emptiness of letting go of something beloved.
It will start with a shudder, and a feeling of confusion. Then it will transition into emptiness, of deprivation and even deeper confusion. A complete envelopment in the tragedy of the world. Why do we live to be tortured like this? But in time, those questions give way to new ones - What's next? What's past? How can I reconcile the two and make something impossible and painful into something beautiful? If we're wise, we find the answer. And we move on.
I guess what I'm trying to do right now is find the answer to that final question before I go through all the prior traumas. It is my goal to come out the other side of life's troubles as a stronger person.
I can't make sense of where I am in life right now, but I want to. I've been busy, been shying away from breaching this huge subject. It frightened me. My writing has suffered, my clarity of mind has dwindled.
So next time I break my promise, someone, I beseech you, kick me to get involved with this blog again. This is one of the only ways I've been able to find clarity in my life, in myself and in my future. And right now, that's what I need.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)