I figure I should open this blog with an introduction, and an explanation as to why I desire to write about my self, my thoughts, about the things I do and have done, and post them here on the internet for anyone to see.
I seem to have a hard time with these kinds of things. Questions like, “Who are you.”? always have me scrambling to come up with some magic two minute monologue that sums me up. I think humans are more complex than that. I know I am.
Today I was at the park with two of my kids. My eight year old daughter was high up in a tree. My five year old son stood at the bottom holding a long thin branch he had found on the ground. As he called her names, trying his hardest to poke her with the stick, both of them making a whole lot of rowdy noise, I read this passage from "An Expedition to the Pole" by Annie Dillard:
Wherever we go, there seems to be only one business at hand--that of finding workable compromises between the sublimity of our ideas and the absurdity of the fact of us.
And I realized that this is where I see my self and this is why I write. It’s that energy, that something, that has me moving down this path I have chosen, trying to exist within this strange body, this life, the limits of time and circumstance. How do I make sense of it?
I have always loved the power of a story. The personal histories of strangers intrigue me. When I think of the now, I think of the whole life I’ve lived so far, tucked under my arm, like a book.
Listing facts about me always feel so empty: I grew up in the most conservative part of California full of Christian guilt. I had my first child at sixteen. I was married for seven years, having two more kids during that time. I came out as a dyke at twenty-six. I moved to Mexico just five months ago. We home school the kids.
I want to dig deep. Lay it all out in this space. Find that workable compromise.