(Saturday, May 18th, 2013: A few moments of reflection during a weekend at the beach)
Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful people could change the world. Indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.
- Margaret Mead
We oppose the teaching of higher order thinking skills, critical thinking, and similar programs.
- Texas Republican Party platform
As I’m writing this, it’s a quiet Saturday morning. I’m spending the weekend with Erin and some friends at a house near the beach in Manzanita, OR. Outside, the birds who’ve taken up residence in the rafters are furiously chirping at one another. Every now and again, there’s the THWACK!! of driver meeting golf ball at the tee box across the street (Manzanita Golf Club’s nine holes meander through the neighborhood). I find myself reflecting on about how easy it is for me to get wrapped up in things that I can at best have very little impact on, but that nonetheless stir up great passion in me. Being here and listening to the sounds of the ocean remind me of what a small part of the world I am, and how good it can be to embrace that.
Like many bloggers, it’s easy for me to whip myself into a righteous frenzy over the indignity or injustice of the moment. I can, and do, expound at some length about things that I find offensive, ignorant, unfair, repressive, or some combination of the above. At this moment, though, as I sit at the kitchen table and listen to the world, it all seems very far away. It’s moments like this that make me wonder if, after 12 years of spilling my guts- metaphorically speaking, of course- on da Interwebs, it might not be time to move onto something else. Lord knows I’ve tried many times to move my writing and my attention away from politics, but it turns out that one of my great passions is public affairs. I care deeply about politics, because I love my country and take an interest in the direction I see it moving. Does what I do here in my dark, cobwebby corner of the Internet make a difference? Does it change anything? Does my writing and my passion really have any value…other than to myself?
This is not one of my semi-annual existential crises; I’m not debating whether or not to continue What Would Jack Do?. I do find myself engaged in an internal debate over whether what I do has any real, intrinsic value…or whether it’s just so much mental masturbation and literary narcissism? Is it about feeding my ego? Can/should I be doing something more valuable/meaningful/relevant/interesting? Does anyone out there even really give a damn?
Writers by nature are preternaturally insecure. We’re constantly, whether we care to admit it or not, looking for approval. [Insert “Sally Field moment” here: You like me!! You really like me!!] I’m certainly no different, and I find myself looking at my referrer logs often to remind myself that people from all over the world read WWJD. That never ceases to amaze me, and it’s quite humbling. I may never have the widespread social impact of a Josh Marshall, Markos Moulitsas, or John Aravosis, but I do have a small but consistent reader base. I think it was Martin Amis who once said that being a writer requires a sizable degree of arrogance, for one has to assume that people actually WANT to read what you write. I’ve never thought of myself in quite that way, but if I’m honest with myself, I’d admit to possessing high concentrations of both insecurity AND a certain type of writer’s arrogance. It’s why people like Ernest Hemingway swallow shotguns (BTW- that’s an example, NOT a statement of intent). Writers tend to live with the fear that no one will care AND the belief that we actually have something to say. We can keep two opposing trains of thought alive in our pointy l’il heads with no sense of conflict. That can be like trying to connect the same pole of two magnets, but that conflict is what oftens fuels a writer. I’m no different. I wrestle with the fear of creeping irrelevance even as I continue to believe that I have the absolute right to foist my scribblings upon an unsuspecting public.
Today, though, is best left for other things. I have a weekend at the Oregon Coast to recuperate and recharge. Soon there will be children banging doors shut and stomping up the stairs. My solitude will be broken, and I’ll get back to enjoying the company of those we came to spend the weekend with. I can worry about being relevant or witty or even readable later…’cuz Lord knows there will ALWAYS be time to worry.
Right now, I think I’ll enjoy my break from reality….
