I've stayed mostly cooped up today because I am determined to heal this foot. You don't realize just how active you are until you aren't allowed to be anymore. So this foot-throbbing-whatever needs to stop, because unlike other life monstrosities that are cured with a good mountain run or a bedroom choreography party, this can't be cured with such. But it seems to be getting better. And... I'm probably going to test that assumption by running the Y in a bit... I'll go gentle.
Today I was supposed to get up before the sun and go jeeping in Moab with some friends. My alarm failed. Though, considering my hours of sleep for the night totaled just over three, I was severely disappointed for about five minutes as I stood in Kersti's bedroom wrapped in a blanket to hide my G's, but then I went back to bed for many more hours.
But I have to say that between these two disappointments that have left me laying on my glorious and very coveted bed - after deep cleaning my bedroom, which turned into moving folders of paper from one location to another - I am extremely content.
I've been reading Meg Conley's blog from beginning to end, like it's a book, and listening to Ray LaMontagne. I did the same with Stephanie Nielson's blog - while listening to Rosie Thomas - years back at the very start of graduate school, when I was just barely dinking into the world of online writing myself. Good writing awakens me. It awakens me in a different way than my other passions. Running awakens my stamina, dancing awakens my confidence, but writing awakens my.... grounding to life.
Sidenote: No wonder I'm always a bundle of energy - I find so much to awaken me! Which mirrors the text my best friend Chelsea sent this morning, after I texted her a picture of a letter I wrote her, found in my car dated last APRIL! I'll go ahead and mail that now. - Oh Chantel, I just read the first page from the photo. Thank you so much. You are one of my greatest inspirations with the way you live and love life. I love you. Thanks, C.
Anyway, Meg's writing has heightened me to the goodness of mortality, the way all of our roads can be just a bit dreary, but we can still perceive it through any fanciful filter we choose. I'm reconnected to the wonder of people, always loving to see how the world moves through them, how they see and deal. Now, having wrapped around Meg's mind, her lovely writing, her magic as a mother, her vulnerability, I feel such joy for the open side of humanity. I desire to be more freely expressive myself.
But I don't always feel such a liberating rush to throw my doors open and call for people to gallivant around in my space. Mostly because I see people gallivanting less and less kindly. Am I just losing my childhood ignorance and seeing more of the real world, or are people increasingly cynical and judgmental and frightening? I see too much insecurity, separation, and fear. And here's my thoughts as too why....
I am reminded of the years of my life when I engaged in no social media, only connecting with others through real world interaction or meaningful online writing. I have always sought to connect through only the most authentic connections, wrapping myself around the full essence of another, creating safe bonds of understanding and trust. And I felt those same bonds reciprocated, people always saying they shared no other connections in comparison. That shouldn't be! Why are quality relationships so rare?
And then I went back on social media and felt a decrease in my interactions. I make no stab against using such media, but I hold no hesitation in saying they greatly deplete our capacity of connection. It cheapens our relationships with each other, as the process is observe, validate, and disengage - a graze across the top of someone's life. And many only exist with that one layer, spawning an inability to understand someone's world at any deeper level, resulting in misunderstandings and abuses. Which spurs fear and uncertainty for people to share any further because they know energy will not be offered for full comprehension or appreciation. Thus, taking steps away from each other, concealing our nakedness and actuality, driving our world away from the practice of compassion.
But writing - oh I love it. Writing goes down inside. Writing shows humanity. Writing gives all air to the thought: we are all fellow travelers just walking each other home. We're all doing the best we can, seeking to understand, trying to create, survive, and love. And if we could only SEE that in each other - see another's panoramic, in-depth experience of life - then I believe the measure of love from human-to-human would increase exponentially. We would trust each other! Talents would surface with boldness. Society, professions, the economy - everything would thrive!
But I can't push on the side of a ship and make it turn. I can only row my own boat in the direction I believe. Thus, I am back to my same conclusions: authenticity, honesty, and compassion. And writing is the best way I have found to engender those. And today, I feel moreso. Discovering open people like Meg make me want to be just a bit more of all good things.
Cheers, Meg, to beautiful writing.
This whole post is extremely similar to an essay I wrote exactly one year ago, here. The world takes a year to orbit to the same place, and apparently my thoughts do too.
Upward and onward,