Remember the time that you hiked to the lake? It was about after mile 7 that I wanted to turn around, with my legs longing for the body of a marathoner and my eyes casting glances to the dirt trail which promised to take me home. We could have all turned back, without apology or explanation. We had gone long enough to tell others that we had experienced nature, hiked, travelled, and lived.
But we knew we hadn’t reached the pearl of the mountain, protected by steep terrain. The scene of the lake could be etched into our memories, or breathed into our souls with the feeling of the frost touching our lungs and the view reshaping our connection with nature.
So we walked and continued, and in continuing we were delighted and delightful.
And the lake was there, as promised. Just witnessing the pines (subjected to an existence of struggling in a desert) gather life from the pond during that fall was enough to give confidence to our own future, where we live in an equally dry and desert world. It was beautiful and grand and special because we-step after step, curse after curse-reached it. And it was more beautiful for it.
This view, with struggle and drive and hate and love was earned and to share it or pretend that others would ‘get it’ or feel the poison of envy from it cheapens it like the cheapness of a used love poem employed by the boy in his third serious relationship.
Sometimes I feel like there is an expectation in our digital world of facebook updates, twitter feeds, instant news, gchat, and texting to create a connection of information between those close to us, but more often than not with those distant, foreign, and losing the glow friendship.
The whoring of information will cheapen any experience.
Information gleaned from friends or given freely, like a rare lake found, should be protected through the bonds of friendship and not publicized with every blog post.
I think we forget that information doesn’t have to be shared to be real; increased value is given to that which is rare.
1 comment:
AMEN!!! I have always believed that we are diluting our own histories with the diluge of social media right now. Thousands of head-shots on your facebook profile pic somehow diminishes a picture that actually captured a meaningful moment. Thousands of tweets on twitter distract from something important one might actually have to say. Even blogs...with their limitless words and zero editing process make it so we can puke whatever we desire onto the internet, without ever so much as checking our spelling. That's why I still journal...because I know that my grandchildren will only be interested in reading the words I cared enough to handwrite (although both of our blogs are also friggin awesome :)
Whoa. Sorry about that. Basically I just want to say I agree with everything you said. Only you said it better.
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