Category: Writing

I wrote last week about the commonplace book, and writing out passages that mean something. Here’s the one I referenced:

“…and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones are are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a common place thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes, ‘Aaaww.'” – Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Right then, it was likely about wanting to live a life like that of Neal Cassidy. To be “mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time.” And as I think on it now, nearly nine years after that reading, I wonder exactly how far I’ve progressed, and how much distance I’ve actually given up.

I like my Kindle. The lightweight device is superior to reading the iPad because, when I’m reading in bed (I know, you’re not supposed to read in bed, but even I have my vices), if I fall asleep, the Kindle hitting me in the face is a lot lighter than the iPad.

But, I like the physical presence of a book. I remember Giles in the tv show Buffy the Vampire Slayer saying that he “like the smell.” I think he was saying he was distrustful of computers which, in the 1990s, wasn’t too uncommon a complaint.

This goes back a long time, though. Lord Byron, in a passionate plea to the House of Commons in the early nineteenth century, sided with the Luddites opposing the use of mechanical looms. New technology is often scary, even in olden times.

I’m fairly confident we had an election back in November. No, I distinctly recall voting. And yet, there’s the runoff election in Georgia tomorrow (“Can’t wait to stop seeing political ads,” said every Georgian everywhere), a cacophonous Senate where members are still plotting to overturn election results, and a President who will not go gently, raging against not only the light, but just about everything.

And I thought it was exhausting in the months leading up to November.

What the vast majority of us know about politics comes from history and civics classes we took in grade school, dramatic programming like The West Wing, Designated Survivor, or House of Cards, and watching our politicians interact on the media stage. In 1979, Al Gore posited that “Television will change this institution, Mr. Speaker, just as it has changed the executive branch. But the good will far outweigh the bad.”

An while there may be some question as to how bad it’s gotten, there is an argument to be made for it based on the shear volume of political coverage. But maybe that in itself is an issue. With so much coverage, so many talking heads issuing their opinions on the topics, maybe we’re faced with a viewership fatigue – much like the poor residents in Georgia must be feeling over the onslaught of political ads.

I’ve been meditating more over the past few months and I’ve noticed than when I lose the moments of mindfulness, I’ll find good ideas popping up. At first, I struggled to try and recall them. This led to more thinking about them during meditation, disrupting my concentration even more.

I’ve started noting them down – pausing my meditation for a moment – so that when I return to the practice, I don’t have the distraction of knowing I’ll have to try and recollect the thought.

All creativity operates in much the same way. When we’re not beating down its door, it’s more apt to come calling. It just happens that it’s usually while we’re in the kitchen attempting to put out the small grease fire we’ve started while trying to cook for a dinner party of twelve. That is, when we’re focused so strongly on other things, good ideas tend to pop up – often at inopportune times.

I’ve yet to work out how to control the creative impulses, but I’m assured that it can be done. Most artists and creatives follow routines, repetition, and daily practices to ensure that the work moves forward, calling forth inspiration when at convenient times.

Well, that’s behind us. Sure, it’ll take some time for the scars of 2020 to heal, and we may have rough days aplenty still to come. But I think the overall mood going into this year is more hopeful than hopeless.

There are 365 new sunrises, 365 new sunsets. There are 8,760 hours that we get to make the most of, trying our best after a year that tested us to new extremes.

“Dead yesterdays and unborn tomorrows, why fret about it, if today be sweet.” – Omar Khayyám.

There are a though and little things that divert our attention each day. Some are small, some large. Some mean something more than they appear, and others are just what they seem.

In the end, we can only complete what start. Only find value in that which matters to us. And only hope to accomplish a few things each day in a world where everyone else as well is facing their own daily challenges.

“Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

In what may be one of the most complicated casualties of 2020, civil discourse in this country has taken a hit such that few could have foreseen. Returning to a world where communication and discussion between opposing viewpoints seems like little more than pipe dreams now.

Yet, it’s been known to happen. In 1971 Durham, NC, the forced association between Ann Atwater, a black activist, and C.P. Ellis, a Ku Klux Klan leader, turned into a lifelong friendship, documented in the The Best of Enemies book, play, and film, as one example.

We tend to be more understanding of friends, and friendships can grow out of conversations. But when we remain insular, it’s nearly impossible to discuss without becoming aggressive.

So, one more thing to think about going into 2021. Civility in social life.

The sun crested the eastern sky sometime around six this morning. Its early luster shined onto water, grass, rock, flowers, and trees. Men and women waking to its rays, or to various alarm clocks, all experience the same waking sensations.

Do we need to know that the reason the sun does what it does because we, as residents of this space-rock, rotate around an axis that causes half the globe to face light and the other half to face a dark, spatial vastness?

No, probably not. But we like to know. We have a thirst for exploring the unknown. That’s part of what makes life so exciting.

Needless to say, it’s been different. Perhaps this Christmas only passingly resembles christmases past, in an interesting, jaded sense of commercialism. But there is so much missing that it’s hard to recognize the holidays.

What’s really absent is community. From its humble beginnings in winters of thousands of years ago, it’s been about people gathering together. And that’s just something we cannot do right now.

So, hopefully it was a safe Christmas. And a warm Christmas. And something that, come next year, will resemble more of outlier than norm.