(re)connecting, (re)collecting

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I’m really surprised it’s been so long since I last wrote anything here. So much for consistency.

At any rate, I developed the bug to write tonight, and by god, I’m gonna do it.

Here’s how it’s all gone down in the past couple of weeks: It started when I got a Facebook page, at the insistence of a couple of friends. It didn’t take long for me to get hooked on the thing. I’ve sought out friends near and far, and have been pretty successful at making some connections. I’ve never been particularly good at keeping in touch with folks. Email makes it easier, sure, but sometimes just don’t know what parts of my life I should reveal, or what I am capable of sharing. 

When I take a quick glance at my life, I see nothing spectacular, nothing particularly worth sharing. I live in Seattle. I have a decent enough job. I have a dog. I’m a writer, but I don’t write too much these days. I’ve published one story. And that’s about it really. That’s my day to day. It seems rather boring to share that kind of stuff with anyone.

So I could say more, I suppose. I could talk about relationships. Love and loss. Grief and depression, discoveries made in the midst of psychotherapy, the benefits of anti-depressants and the way grief wanes with time, but will never leave. The way life looks and feels when a depression lifts and you see your life and realize how lucky you are, how good things can be. 

Or I could talk about my family–how I rarely talk to them, how horrible their lives often seem from my point of view. How sick my mom has become, how stressful my dad’s life has become. My angry brother. My sister.

But none of those things seem appropriate to talk about to a once-friend-turned-stranger. I don’t feel like telling them about Scott, even though his presence and then absence has had a profound impact on every aspect of my life. Nor do I feel like telling anyone in my life’s periphery about Robin. It’s hard to go into details about something you care so deeply about yet can barely understand yourself.

So I wind up swooping back and giving a quick survey of a ten-year landscape. Puerto Rico to Seattle, Seattle to Corvallis, Corvallis to Seattle. Jobless, and then fully employed with a decent salary and benefits and retirement package. A dog named Petey.

I suppose this is it: I feel as though I should be providing details of my life, stuff you can put on a time line or resume. But it’s not always satisfactory to leave it at that. I want to ask these people with whom I’ve become reacquaintedfor more. What’s it like to live in Slovakia? What was it like to leave home? Did you want three kids? How do you manage to get anything done? Why are you working there? Why aren’t you living somewhere else? 

The you I knew then is not the you I’ve been reintroduced to. And the me you once knew has changed, too.We are quite different, and that is what I want to know about, that’s what I want to ask. How are you different now from the person I used to know? Are you happy?

I hope you’re happy. 

I am.


Author: Kim Sharp

more later

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