Is there no other lens for looking at life than one’s self? I have been so absorbed with my own feelings, confusion, and dreams. I can’t imagine Maria sticking around if I continue to go on this way: Blah, blah, blah — beep, boop boop, beep — about myself. Nothing wrong with blogging, just the “live my life with me in real time” writing that I have been peddling. Maybe the unexamined life is not worth living, as Socrates said; but I don’t need to tell all. Maria seems less and less comfortable with it.
And Dad has probably been rolling in his grave, for he always had a good bit of the Pilgrim in him. He was naturally reserved as well as philosophically opposed to personal narratives, on the grounds they lacked objectivity. I seem to have been ignoring his example and following that of another New England son, someone quite influential in his own day: Henry David Thoreau. In his well-known work about his alone time at Walden Pond, he wrote:
“I should not talk so much about myself if there were anybody else whom I knew as well.”
In Thoreau’s day, this confession seemed a refreshing bit of candor. In mine, it only seems redundant. So, I will be shifting gears, changing my tune, focusing on what life presents with a wider lens. I’ll start with a simple question. What can I hope to know about this amazing world Maria and I –- all of us — are living in?
And most important of all, What is love? That question should absorb me for awhile!