The wise ones fashioned speech with their thought, sifting it as grain is sifted through a sieve.
Yep, there I am captured like the little seashell fairy
Indeed I’ve finally given in and reactivated my facebook. Reluctantly I concede to the fact that Mr. Z has won.
He has made it nearly impossible (or at least impractical) not to join his not-so-exclusive club. Far too many times I’ve come across a link that has some importance and relevance to my actual daily life and was blocked without an account. You need to be there to connect, you see.
And now, ugh, it’s all about the timeline, which I’ve pseudo defeated by wiping out all my past (or at least the period which facebook captures, which is basically everything). I’m sure my kids will crucify me for that, since rather than making me a rebel (the way I’d prefer to look at it), it makes me instead someone who doesn’t share. It’s me, not you. Don’t take offense. Maybe I’ll warm up to it again, who knows?
I readily admit to being an odd sort who doesn’t embrace the whole concept of opening myself up to this auto-documentation of every text, every event, every friendship made or broken. Auto-curation of my life makes me feel like a pickle or a beetle pinned to a board (fairy in a jar?). Reading about others makes me feel a bit the way I did when I peeked into my mother’s drawer (something I still regret).
Actually I’ve come to the conclusion that my reticence to embrace this is in my DNA. Both of my parents had their streaks of whatever it is that makes me not necessarily want to carry my past along with me like a tumbleweed. My father would disappear for a time, and my mother was a bit of a loner, by choice or circumstance. Maybe I’m just shy.
But really I didn’t plan on posting about this but about how important it is to lose. Winners, you see, are carried along with fame and glory but their true moxie comes out when the fans jump to the next big thing and they are left alone, on the pedestal which they now see is crumbling and not as glorious as it seemed not long ago.
As my children grow I (and the rest of their extensive facebook universe!) am delighted by their successes, but in between these events documented by lines and posts and photos I also share their defeats, their disappointments. In the end the strength they show during these are what makes me so very proud, prouder than of the accolades and the prizes won.
I wrote earlier about how I realize now how important it is to give our children the tools with which they might travel and explore the world with open minds and hearts, and I should add to that how vital it is to teach them how to fall.
Bikers. Surfers. Divers. Skateboarders. Horseback riders. They all say the same. Tuck. Roll. Slide. Pull inward and don’t reach out to break your fall. Yield to it and, above all, relax. Tension makes it worse.
And then, once you’ve taken a moment to confirm that you are alive, get up and do it again.