I’m not sure if it’s abandonment or neglect: I have not maintained this blog. It’s a funny thing, when and how we’re motivated to revisit things of the past. There was a time that I was extremely active here (I estimate in 2010, maybe, as I was nearing the end of my tenure teaching at Boston College, and fairly laissez-faire about my daily affairs and purpose). I found myself, then, posting my thoughts freely, sharing the particular nooks and crannies of my days, seeking solace where solace could be found in virtual, real time publishing. After I moved to New York this impulse to connect dissipated.
Perhaps it’s that enough time has passed, people come and gone, work life and daily life less crowded with diversions and preoccupations, that I am now desirous of this form. Blogging simply feels more substantial than Facebook. Think it, write it, publish it. Bam! Surely, Facebook has only contribute to my short attention span, fragmented thinking: FB posts have served as a poor cousin to the intermediary work of blogging, which strikes me as half-writing and half-entertaining. It may be that after three years in New York and the beginning of yet another stage of my life, I’m ready to return.
One closing thought, from Clarice Lispector, individualist and iconoclast. I’m reading her last book now, “A Hora de Estrela.” A real writer’s writer:
“My truest life is unrecognizable, extremely interior and there is not a single word to describe it. My heart has emptied itself of every desire and and been reduced to its own final or primary beat.”