Whither the Blog?

One of the reasons I started this blog a while back was to try to construct some kind of journal that was able to capture the "real me", whatever that turned out to be. I never intended (and still don't intend) it to be a daily diary or tedious listing of what I did every day, what cereal I ate for breakfast, who has snippy to me at work, how my back felt, etc. but I did think that over time it might be able to communicate some of my essence, some of the thoughts and observations few of us ever really reveal in our "outer" lives.

That might sound a tad narcissistic, but think about it; how many of us really express ourselves in a genuine way on a daily basis? How many of us truly drop that intricate series of masks we don every day to face the world, even if for a short while, to a friend or loved one? It happens, surely, but a lot of our day to day living is just coping mechanisms. And to be fair, most of us are embarressed or afraid to reveal a lot of things even to ones we love deeply, for fear of rejection or simply "freaking out" those around us. I think that my mother and I were extremely honest with each other, and talked about just about everything, but like any two adults who had our own private fears and thoughts and dreams, I'm sure we didn't practice 100% revelation. No one does; no one who has any sense of identity and privacy. And certainly while I cherish my small circle of friends there are aspects of my personality and life that some know and some don't; everyone knows "pieces" but almost no one can lay claim to the whole puzzle. And that's really healthy, I think. I've heard that in any marriage a little mystery is a good thing in that once you become too known and predictable, your mate might start taking you for granted, or at least take the relationship for granted. Like finely honed gems, we all need to be able to reveal new facets of ourselves occasionally to keep not only our peers interested in us, but also ourselves.

But like any journal or personal keepsake, it will live on after us. Whether it exist simply in cyberspace or on hard disk, the words we type into these blogs will be here after those who typed them are not, and that presents us with an obvious question; what is to be done with these musings, revelations, verbal larks and essays once we shuffle off this mortal coil?

One obvious solution is to simply do nothing. If I die in bed tonight, my blog will live on for a certain amount of time (I'm not sure but I assume that after a certain period of inactivity it would be deleted by the hosting website). Those who would regularly visit it would more than likely be people I knew and would know I had died, and therefore they wouldn't expect any more entries (though imagine their surprise if somehow there were). 99 percent of us do not have blogs that are garnering thousands of hits a day by anonymous readers, and therefore we don't have to worry about what to do about readers that don't even exist, at least not for purposes of this discussion.

Ultimately, this is a lazy and ineffective solution though. What if there were family members or friends who don't read our blogs but that we would like to share it with once we'd passed? Those individuals, possibly never having known there even was such a blog, would have no idea where to look if we didn't plan ahead. So if there are people like that in our lives, it would be a good idea to leave some sort of instructions as to where to find the blog and who can have access to it.
I suppose one could stipulate that a hard disk or even paper copy of the blog be made after one's death, and then supplied to whomever you choose. Either way, the key is planning and prior notification. Leaving the blog in cyberspace with no instructions at all is like leaving prized personal possessions out in the open for any and all to see, and not telling those who you want to bequeath them to where they are.

My situation makes this solution troublesome though. I have no wife, no children, no parents and no siblings. The natural person I would bequeath my blog to would be my mother, and I'm sure had she survived me that's what I would have done (my father died years before I had internet access, and as cold as it sounds, I never expected my brother to outlive me). Bereft of close family, several imperfect options remain. I have an aunt and an uncle, 70 and 64, respectively. It is theoretically possible that they might survive me, though it's unlikely. In any event, as much as I know they care about me, I'm sure they wouldn't feel slighted if I chose to leave it to someone else (though obviously I could allow as many as I'd like to view it). They might be interested in it, but I'm not entirely sure they'd fall under the category of "needing" to see it. I think they are fairly comfortable with their present perception of me, which is great, but might not feel any need to delve any deeper.

My niece and nephew were another obvious choice, but again, I'm not really sure they would feel compelled to read it. I could be wrong. And I could easily go ahead and let them have access to it, along with my aunt and uncle. But the central flaw of that approach is that, while it's understandable and practical, it seems incomplete somehow. I remember on the old, sorely missed "Mary Tyler Moore" show, in the final episode Mary talks about how the people you work with aren't just the people you work with, they are family "because what else is family than people who make you feel less alone, and really loved?"

I've been thinking a lot about that quote lately. It's not that the family I have left doesn't care about me or vice versa, but I do have friends that more precisely fit Mary's well spoken quote. I feel a strong kinship with them, much as I shared with my mom. And that kinship has nothing at all to do with blood or DNA but everything to do with shared interests, similar perspectives and compatible dispositions. This is taking nothing away from my remaining family, most of which I know honestly care about me; it's just acknowledging that sometimes the closest bonds are those that are made, not enforced by genetics. I was lucky enough to have a mom that was my best friend; but now that she's gone I'm also lucky enough to have friends that seem and feel like family.

So I'm making a list in my mind; a list of people who would not only appreciate the thoughts I've put down here but who I'd feel comfortable sharing such information with. It's a strange dilemma to be placed in, one that's really unique to our time in history. But as odd as it may seem, this blog, more than anything else, is something that can truly encapsulate the essential "me", in all my naked imperfection, in all my insecurity and fear and uncertainty, and in all my strengths as well.

If you are reading this, years from now, welcome and thank you; it's because of who you are and who you have been to me that I've decided to share this with you. You brought me joy and made me feel less alone in this often frightening and confusing world. Fates willing, we will meet again in some form or another; till then, I hope this blog brings you at least a fraction of the joy and peace of mind that you brought me in life.

My Kingdom For Some Serotonin

On an old "Barney Miller" episode (one of my favorites, actually) Barney (Hal Linden) is passed over once again for promotion and falls into a deep depression. His mood is reflected (and intensified by) a thick cover of fog that gathers outside in the New York air, and most of the episode features Barney glued to his desk, in a darkened office, staring out at the fog and brooding over the disappointment in his life.

I've felt much the same way this month. The Christmas holiday wasn't particularly enervating, but I did at least get a break from work and occasionally saw some people in social situations. Since then, for a variety of reasons, I suspect, my mood has been almost uniformly poor. Some of it is no doubt due to "holiday letdown". As I said, the holidays no longer hold much promise of joy for me so I don't tend to get very excited about them, but when you have eleven days off of work there is always a sense of having time to get unaddressed work done and also to reinvigorate your life. You're going to start that novel, or at least read some. You're going to be more organized and schedule cleaning on a regular basis. You're going to reconnect with old friends you've been neglecting, begin eating healthier or pay more attention to a long neglected hobby or passion.

Unfortunately, in my case at least, very little of that ever actually happens.

So once January rolls around and you haven't put in motion any (or many) of those laudable changes, you're disappointed in yourself because you realize that the small window you had to make those changes is now past, and you're going to be once again thrust into the physical and mental demands of the daily grind. You lose whatever brief glimmer of belief you had in your own ability to change and you just sort of schlep resignedly back into your old patterns.

It happens to a lot of people every year, I suppose but for some reason this year it's hit me harder than I ever remember. A lot of it is just probably my age; at 43 I don't have many more years to reasonably say "this has to be the year". I suppose it's never technically too late to change but if you wait too long all the people you need to help you on your journey will have already written you off and your struggle will be made that much harder, if not impossible. And admittedly, the weather isn't helping. It's been sunny the last couple of days, but before that I don't think I saw old Sol for three weeks or so. And the sun isn't putting much of a dent in the below zero temperatures in any event. No one can reasonably expect balmy weather in January, but this year has been atypical for recent winters, more reminiscent of the winters of my childhood; bitter cold, snow filled and windy. Long periods without sun deprive the body of serotonin, and depression can and often does set in as a result.

Social isolation is also a factor, I'm sure. I've seen the normal crew at work but that's hardly a social outlet; most of the time you're so busy working you are barely aware that there are human beings inches away from you, at least human beings with feelings and thoughts and personalities. And other times you are all TOO aware of those people and their own usually foul moods begin infecting or expanding upon your own depression. Either way, you really can't count on the work community for much of an emotional pickup. So you're left with the other agents of socialization; school, church or community groups. I do take classes but they are mostly online so obviously there's no human touch there, I don't attend church (which I suppose is worthy of another post) and the only group I belong to is a humane society which I love working for but, like my job, is generally so full of activity that the opportunities for chatting and interacting are small and not all that fulfilling. It therefore becomes a real effort to seek out people when I need them; they aren't just "there" unless I summon them (or try to anyway). And having very little family, I am not, understandably, anyone's priority anymore. If there's one overridingly depressing thought I have at this time, that last sentence pretty much captures it.

Now I ponder the class I have yet to start, the projects for work I want to start on but seriously wonder why I bother with, the friends and relatives I haven't kept in touch with well enough, the kingdom of clutter that is my home, and the life decisions that loom ever larger on my horizon (career, finance, spirituality, and other matters of import). I know how Barney Miller felt while he gazed out at that fog and wondered exactly what map he was following to bring him to this particular nexus in his life. I know what it feels like to have the atmosphere outside your window reflect the growing unease within your soul and to want to just sit in the dark until you can come to some sort of resolution or at least understanding of how things came to be this way. I know how it feels to doggedly re evaluate all the decisions you've made in your life and try to sense whatever pattern there might be behind them and use that to try to predict which direction you should take next to extricate yourself from what seems to be a dead end on your life maze. I understand how it feels to take stock of the whatever remaining resources you have and try to figure out if they are going to be enough to get you where you want to go, if you ever figure out where that is.

At the end of that episode, the detectives come into Barney's office and try to cheer him up. As usual with the show, everything isn't resolved in a favorable way but the presence of friends brings Barney back to himself a bit, and he re examines his place in life in a more positive light. Friends can do that for you. Most of the time they are there if you allow them to be and don't choose to live in the darkness. Sometimes we need solitude to reflect and decide, but it's hard to lighten up a dark room all by yourself. And as I sit here now, feeling more than a bit overwhelmed by life and apprehensive about where I'm going, I try to remind myself that at least a kernel of that uncertainty exists in just about everyone I know. Maybe the trick to not being totally absorbed by that darkness is having friends with matches, and hopefully having a few to light for them in return.