I am not a sophisticated writer.
I do okay with spelling but grammar will always trip me up. Neither really seem to be the point. When I become engaged with something I’m reading I rarely find myself marveling at the structure of it. Good bones are certainly important but what I’m always after is the heart of a thing. Worrying too much about the nuts and bolts is a little like having a well built room without a comfy chair.
I just wrote nearly a thousand words in a blog post and now I’m laughing about it. The problem doesn’t appear to be that I have nothing to say, but seriously, I just wrote 979 words and I still didn’t really say anything. Sigh.
“Write what you know”
“Never edit as you go”
“Write TO someone”
Life is chock full of instructions. In an effort to be thorough I embrace them all and wind up with a blathering mess. So, I have my laugh about so much nothingness on the page, hit the delete button, and start over.
Writing what I know feels vulnerable and bumps up against my desire to grow the readership of this blog. Why AM I doing it ? I have an idea of who my ideal audience is, and yet scrolling through my list of followers, I realize there are many that don’t even remotely fit that profile. So many never engage. It seems that a little clean-up is in order. It isn’t about the width after all, it’s about the depth. I need to do a little thinking about why I’m really doing this at all.
I woke up (again) this morning to a wildly swinging windchime and rain l. I don’t mind the rain for my refuge walk but I do mind a rainy forty minute drive to get there. I’ll take Yoda out in the neighborhood later but for now I think I might finally be in the mood to start clearing out another more tangible part of my life. The garage.
I know that all the bins of crap I store out there are metaphors for something. But there is just “stuff” too. Everything from IRAQ war playing cards to beads that someone brought from NOLA, to the dozens of Christmas cards from years past. Today is the day I begin the long goodbye.
When I was younger I collected odd things. Every time my grandmother flew down to California or Nevada she would return with tiny, empty liquor bottles. I would place them on a little bookcase I had but only after swallowing the tiny drops that might remain. I saved little Mighty Mint containers too. Small plastics that dispensed powerful mints. Oh, and all of the baseball and football and basketball cards. ( Why ? )
I have bins full of random things given to me as gifts that I can’t bear to move along (though today I will). Books I’ll never read, plastic knick-knacks I’ll never display, art that will never adorn my walls. With tenderness for what they once meant and with a nod to the good intention of the givers, they will find their way out of here.
( To my knowledge no one has ever inquired about “that knick-knack” given over 20 years ago … so why do I keep it ? )
To think that even as I near 60 I am still feeling some sense of connection to “stuff” is a bit alarming. None of it really defines me and yet I hang onto it as if I’m afraid to let it go. As if I would be letting a part of ME go. (It might just be that all that “stuff” is what tethers me to an idea of who I am that no longer rings true) The truth is: stuff is making me feel clausterphobic rather than nostalgic. It’s time.
When we replaced all of our flooring we were in the position to start anew. Everything had to come out, and only what we really wanted, came back in. The rest of it lies in wait. I may only get one bin cleared today but it will be one more than yesterday. Tomorrow and the days that follow will unfold as they will. This isn’t mapped out nor is it an instruction. It is what is in front of me right now. This day. This moment.
Spring is coming and even as it dispenses the last coughs and spits of winter I am in planning mode for a couple of trips south. Most of my plans depend on whether or not I will be vaccinated in the next couple months. I expect to be in the next phase and have the flexibility to schedule accordingly. Fingers crossed. Adventure calls.
I won’t keep it waiting.