Living in Florida can be seen as a series of trade-offs. For example, we have mild winters and lots of sunshine. We also have a lot of animals that should only be seen on the Discovery Channel. In the past year, while walking Charlie in my highly-populated suburban condo neighborhood, we have seen:
Recently, a lot of spiders have been in the area. I know a few things about these spiders. I know they’re about the size of a silver dollar, and I know they like to spin big-ass webs from low tree branches to the ground. I also know…now…that when Charlie takes off after a lizard, he will not hesitate to drag me the hell through one of those webs.
It was ok, though. I handled it with dignity and grace and screaming.
I dropped his leash, clawed at my hair, ripped off my hoodie and (I’m not sure about this part) kind of smacked myself all over my face and shoulders. It seemed like I was clear, but I still had the creepy-crawlies all over, so I stopped at the next SUV I passed to check myself out in the window
After about 20 seconds, I realized there was nothing crawling on me.
At the same time, I ALSO realized there was a man sitting in the car. Staring back. At what was clearly a crazy person who had a Flashdance fit in the parking lot, then ran over to stare creepily at him through his window.
I’m lucky I didn’t get smacked with a car door.
I had, of course, been drinking.
Whenever you find yourself staring out a window and thinking about your inescapable mortality while Jack’s Mannequin is plaintively wailing through the speakers – you have, of course, been drinking.
(You are also the same person who has spent six hours clicking through StumbleUpon while a ‘Real Housewives of Orange County’ marathon was on in the background, so frankly, your profound thoughts on the precious value of our fleeting moments lack a certain credibility.)
This is the contradiction that was bothering me:
On one hand, we have a world full of the most constant and shallow stream of information that humans have been able to invent. Twitter, Facebook, HuffPo, YouTube, texting, email on your smartphone, Tivo, Netflix, On Demand, Hulu…. The whole world seems designed to keep us from thinking about anything in depth, or from thinking about much at all.
On the other hand, thanks to cable news, websites and the 24-hour news cycle, there are constant reminders all around you that life is fragile and ends randomly and violently and suddenly with no forgiveness. Actually… maybe it’s not surprising we’d rather go back and look at more Lolcatz.
There are dozens of clichés about this: Live like you were dying. Live like it’s your last day on earth. Every moment could be your last. Like a lot of clichés, though, they’re also true.
Sometimes, it depresses me in the strangest ways. “My time here is so limited, and I have to spend most of it cleaning my house or drudging away at work. Why do I have to waste my few moments of life doing laundry when my mortality is staring me in the face?!?!” Of course, the answer is that even Mother Teresa had to wear a clean habit, so put your whites in the dryer, St. Francis.
Sometimes, it just overwhelms me, because I don’t know what it is I feel I SHOULD be doing instead of… you know, what I’m doing now. I just think it should be more grand and meaningful and memorable. I’m like an existential Underpants Gnome.
I didn't reach any conclusions. Well... that's not completely true. I reached plenty of conclusions last night about how I was going to make the most of every moment and do something that truly made a difference every single day and not live so pointlessly or cautiously.
And then this morning, I walked Charlie and cleaned the kitchen.
Because even Ghandi had to drink from a clean cup.
Deciding to blog every day smacks of hubris in some ways – why should I assume that this is a decision of note, or that anyone else would give up two seconds of their time to see what I’ve decided to spray all over the internet this morning?
However, there are some reasons that are good enough for me:
1. It’s time to contribute. Between reading blogs and tumblr and Twitter and news sites and TV sites and magazine sites, I consume a preposterous amount of material on line. One day it struck me that I’m not contributing to this in any way – I only consume. I’m not under any illusion that the web needs another blogger. It doesn’t. In fact, having one more random person writing about why shoelaces are so weird might finally crash the network and we’ll all be doomed.
But still, I felt like it was time to be a contributor. Sorry about that, future civilizations.
2. I miss writing. I like writing. I like writing every day, as it presents a façade of discipline. (…she says as she is still unshowered, the pets need to be fed, and there’s no coffee brewing yet.)
3. Now my friends are doing it, too, and I LOVE that.
4. I love reading my friends’ blogs, so maybe they like mine, which is good enough for me, because…
5. …it doesn’t really matter if this gets read or not. I don’t know if that sounds cynical or pitiful or what, but it’s true. I just want to write. Obviously, I want to share what I write, or I’d leave this in the Word document where it starts, but still – writing is the primary point.
(If you ARE reading this, and I hope you are because I'm a total hypocrite, why do you blog?)
