Stay with me here. This may sound whiny or “get-off-my-lawn!” a bit, but I promise it isn’t. At least what is in my head right now, what I am going to try hard to get down on this computer isn’t that way. This is a bit of grieving loss, a really important activity to acknowledge and honor. This is likely to be a bit of rosy-colored remembering of the past as the “good old days” and not the complex mix of good and bad that it and all time periods are/were.
I’ve already touched on some of it. I am typing on a computer right now. I am not following the advice of writers that are much more skilled and experienced than I am and forcing myself to get out a pencil and a few pieces of paper. I’ve never really researched it much but they are likely correct. The process of physically writing likely does produce a superior product, maybe it does more to change the writer so as to produce future wonderfulness more than actually perceptively changing the item written. In any event, the lure of the computer is too strong for me. My compromise is that I have never used voice to text software to just dictate what is coming out of my head. Who knows. More Yang means less Yin.
And writing, when was the last time you either wrote or received a handwritten letter….or even a computer printed letter via the mail? There is likely some magic and love lost in the transition to faster, more abstract ways of communicating. Maybe the fact that I have texted with multiple friends and family members over the past week, all around the world I may add, far outweighs the loss of the tactile post. Just something to think about.
And while I am writing this (or more correctly arranging a buttload of ones and zeros) I am sitting in my cabin next to my crackling wood stove. We are losing wood fires. New homes often are not built with them. And of course single family homes are a luxury that cannot survive anyway. As I understand it, some municipalities are forbidding new construction of them to (understandably) combat ever-worsening air quality. I watched this morning as the first few puffs of white smoke rose out the stack and wafted into the nearby trees. That stack of wood next to me will be in the air soon. And it will weigh about 44/12ths as much as that stack, we forget that, but not us geeky chemical engineers. Are the days of wood fires numbered? I so very much love the sound and sight and warmth and ritual. I even love splitting wood. I’ve written about it before! Fire is magical. When we can contain it in a little box with a window we can be magical too.
Cursive writing, analog clocks, going to record stores and Blockbuster, riding our bikes over to our friends to see if they can come out and play, having to find our true love without social media and even email addresses or cell phones! I found you Jacqueline in that ancient way. I feel so privileged to have experienced all these dying activities. It is really a story of gratitude and courage. Knowing that when the pen and paper die, when the clickity-clackity typewriter disappears, greatly increased access to friends far and wide replaces it. When the bike riding to friends homes recedes into lore so too can some of the isolation.
The trick is always in harnessing the good and nurturing that. The secret is in always being present, always being honest, always being grateful and humble. The happiness lies in stoic appreciation and breathing slowly deeply in and out and smiling and sharing that smile. Smiles grow the more they are given away.
