When writers who are just starting out ask me when it gets easier, my answer is never. It never gets easier. I don’t want to scare them, so I rarely say more than that, but the truth is that, if anything, it gets harder. The writing life isn’t just filled with predictable uncertainties but with the awareness that we are always starting over again.
I am sitting in a café with large windows, light streaming in, jazz music playing. At this point, I have an idea, a working title, a little piece of inspiration. I am starting over again. I don’t know how this piece will turn out but I do know that before I leave the cafe I’ll have a first draft.
There is a little bit of uncertainty – roughly 45 minutes of uncertainty – involved in writing this post. And that amount of uncertainty is manageable for me. Bite sized.
I was reading the comments on one of Sufjan Stevens’ newly released songs. Someone (dragonman) said something insightful about the meaning of the song and someone else replied ‘Dragonman, I think I’m in love with you.’
And I thought – wow – can you fall in love in the comments section? But then again, as a newly converted online dater, the comments section suddenly doesn’t seem too far off.
We live in a digital era, where every aspect of life has a digital platform. From personal (FB), to work (LinkedIn), to political (twitter) to dating (OKC) I am online. Each with it’s carefully tailored profile – the perfect picture, tone, diction for the specific platform. And as I start to date strangers, I suddenly realize that giving out my cell phone number is far less personal than giving out my last name.
And so it’s scary and there’s a vulnerability in painting my thoughts, opinions and photos online. But there’s also the freedom that comes with being vulnerable. This is me, these are my thoughts. Take what you will.
And so I give out my last name and cell phone number and say take what you will.
Even as I step away from the possibility of romance
Turning away from the manipulations
Drawing my strength forward
And I can still feel desperate
And I can cling to hope
for a simpler life
And consider falling in love with the man with the British accent on the subway
And cling to hope
to someday date a grown up who is inspired by the beauty of simple living
And choose not to date the tennis photographer
who reminds me of Pierre
And I can still cling
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