On Not Finishing the Round

Why does one write a bit and then stop?  Why does he crank out a few blog posts and then disappear?  Why begin at all?  And how does he fail to convince himself that what he carves out has meaning for him or for anyone else?  I also told myself that I am the most important person I can write for, that somehow it serves me first to labor over it, and that it really doesn’t matter if anyone else reads what I write.  It’s just somehow formative, and dare I say cathartic that I do it.  And now, I’m pretty sure that’s nonsense.  Does a musician play only for himself?  She paints, she births her own work, and does not share it?  He only shoots hoops alone?  Not an acceptable loss it seems to me.

It is 7:01pm on Sunday, September 13, 2015.  I’m looking out the window of my father-in-law’s study in Oak Harbor, Washington and the Pacific Northwest sun is, by my ruler measurement held against the window, one inch above the horizon as it drops.  And it is stunning.  The sky is on fire, but it is kind and beautiful, as though gathered and displayed for someone.  There is something about the air here, or the latitude, or the combination that scrapes away much of the opaque that might muddle the fresh space between.  That star is crisp and clean and brilliant, and exploding with color filtered through the atmosphere.  And I wonder why, when it is always difficult to look into the sun as it sets, we somehow must, even with hand up in a shielded glance.  Together we turn and take it in.  And we marvel.  It’s what we do.  It is a shared human experience, not to be refused.  And so I guess we write and sing and paint and sport as well, because there is more out there to be shared that we also cannot deny.  And which we have no final desire to neglect.

And so we start again, drilling down.  Hand tools.  Tactile and a bit gritty.  Sometimes even sweaty.  Lifting and sifting, trying to locate the good stuff.  The stuff that gets buried in the ground of our all-too layered and secured properties.  Signs up.  No Trespassing.  But I'm afraid we must.  You've wanted to pull those signs down for some time now.