Untitled, For Now.

One of the excuses I use to justify inconsistent blogging is a lack of time to sit down and write something worth posting. Most ideas come to me when I don’t have access to my laptop, or I’m driving. Liz Gilbert has taught me never to neglect an idea, and so, what I do, is I snap a photo and make an empty promise to write down the idea I had then—you can imagine how many of those posts have actually made it here.

On Sunday, as I scrolled through my phone, I found all those photos I once took and forgot—a collection of abandoned ideas I promised I’d go back to but never did.

After allowing myself a few minutes of why-do-I-do-this sort of shame, I switched apps and opened WordPress. I’m writing these words as if I were writing a text message to a dear friend, without much thought or hesitation. I could easily go into the office and blog from the laptop, but I want to try something different. I want this to feel different.

The phone creates this sense of urgency, and I want to take advantage of it by writing whatever my memory brings back from each of those photos patiently waiting for me in the Camera Roll folder. I won’t even spend time thinking of an appropriate title; I’ll just consult some of the young experts in my classroom and see what they suggest.

So, after a wordy insight into the purpose behind this new series of posts, I’ll start with one of the oldest photos I rescued and a shy poem I wrote for it.

This road speaks differently; it also dresses differently. You would find it strange, cold, lifeless.
This road doesn’t carry the same wisdom you did; its gray shadows aren’t filled with timeliness scenes or ancient dust accumulating on the objects you so gladly hosted.
This road doesn’t rest or play. It doesn’t seem to have time for foolishness. When I’m on it, it yells, “Go, go, go.” You were always so patient, so indulging. You didn’t really care.
When I’m on this road, I’m not looking down like I always did when I visited you; I know you didn’t mean to, but navigating through you took all my energy. There was never a lot left to wonder.
On this road, I feel safe looking up, and when I do, you wouldn’t believe what I notice.
This road does feel different, diligent, and meticulous. And when I’m on it, I get to experience new forms and thoughts I never could with you.