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 |   Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
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I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
| I used to believe that the internet was the safest place to be, that virtual friends are best. It can be as anonymous as you desire, hiding under pseudonyms and behind avatars. Or if you prefer, you can let it all hang out and chronicle every moment of your life on Instagram and Twitter, gathering followers, stalkers and admirers. But even when you think it´s safe, you can be reminded that we´re all human, even the digital people are just human when you strip away their virtual selves. A couple of years ago, I was watching a cooking video on YouTube. There was a recommendation to make this other YouTuber's pie crust. So I sought out the video and watched it. The woman in the video had some solid tips on pastry and I definitely use her method now. But when I returned to her channel to subscribe to her videos, I discovered she had passed away. She had passed before I saw the first video. And her husband who had taste-tested her tomato pie was dead, too, having predeceased her by several months. I had met, grown to like and lost these people all at once. I still watched her videos, learning from her and about her. Her life had meaning to many, and now it had meaning to me. I don't make pie anymore, and I don't think I will watch those videos again, but I won't forget her. Then, just yesterday, I discovered a crafting YouTuber who demonstrated her patterns for crocheted items. Young, blonde, pretty and perky, she seemed to break the stereotype of crocheters being old women with nothing better to do with their time once the cats were all fed. I liked her approach to patterns and tutorials and subscribed right away. The first video I saw pop up was her memorial service. She died in January of a rare form of cancer at the age of 36. I can't explain how this news hit me. To see someone full of life one minute, then to find that one day not too long ago, without any warning, she was handed a death sentence. To see how cancer just steals lives.... I think it was the sudden nature of her death, at least, it was sudden to me. For one minute she was smiling and chatting happily - the picture of health - and the next she was dead. I have changed my mind about the internet. The deaths of virtual people have too profound an effect on me. The feeling of helplessness is even greater due to the utter remoteness of these strangers. The connection to them isn't real, and I cannot even grieve a loss that isn't really mine. Virtual people often disappear suddenly without explanation. Virtual friendships are broken every day with nothing more than a change of user name. The internet is crowded with humanity and yet, so empty. |
| I dreamed about blogging last night. Lately, I have been dreaming a lot about blogging. Last night, I dreamed that I had an old blog that I transferred here to WDC. It was a recipe blog, but every entry was preceded by a long whine of my general dissatisfaction with life. They were good recipes, but I feel like I might have used them only to draw an audience. The recipes were just there to lure people to my complaint blog. Or, I might have been feeling guilty about having abandoned this blog for five months. Nah. I probably just want to complain. |
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