meretal

Archive for the ‘musing’ Category

the great divorce | musing

In musing on 25 April 2011 at 10:01 am

Moments from The Great Divorce:

The greyness outside the windows turned from mud-colour to mother of pearl, then to faintest blue, then to a bright blueness that stung the eyes. We seemed to be floating in pure vacancy.

They were all fixed faces, not full of possibilities but impossibilities.

I had got ‘out’ in some sense which made the Solar System itself seem an indoor affair.

One gets glimpses, even in our country, of that which is ageless–heavy thought in the face of an infant, and frolic childhood in that of a very old man. Here it was all like that.

But honest opinions fearlessly followed–they are not sins.

Our opinions were not honestly come by. We simply found ourselves in contact with a certain current of ideas and
plunged into it
because it seemed modern and successful.

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on fear | musing

In musing on 9 April 2011 at 3:04 pm

(and other saturday afternoon tragedies)

From Alain de Botton, earlier today:

Those who go on to be proper writers are those who can forgive themselves the horrors of the first draft.

The problem, I have discovered, is not my inability to detach from social media, from cell phone media, from connectedness.

My problem, today, is me.

I have come to the impenetrable that has built up inside me before, the wall that says no—flat out.

It’s why Facebook, why Twitter, why whatever you meander past on the Internet is so consuming—it involves no fear. There is no fear in impersonality, no fear in other people’s lives, no fear in avoiding yours.

The crippling fear that makes you want to cut your wrists, really, for fear that you you will never really do anything in your life. Whether it’s pondering on Facebook, or life in a cubicle, the heart of the problem is that you will be detached forever. Absolutely and forever.

This, to me (& for me), is completely crippling, and completely deafening. If I can’t open up the wall, then how will I be able to speak? Who am I? What is in me?

effort matters | musing

In musing, writing, yes on 6 April 2011 at 10:33 am

What I need are the reminders that effort matters, however laughable the result; that hard work pays off if only in the satisfaction of putting in the hours; that for all the times you strike out, once in a while you’ll manage to hit it out of the park.

Christine Blatchford (via The Globe and Mail)

grey in excess | musing

In musing on 5 April 2011 at 4:51 pm

Growing up means giant grey areas.

(Ryan O’Connell, from “A Recipe for Growing Up”)

Mostly, I am scared to death of growing up. I’ve lived my whole life in the shadow of my independence–thinking I was independent. But as I’m counting down the days to when I really have to make the big decisions, it’s turning out to be less settling than I had hoped.

It’s basically chaos, over-analyzing all the ways that I could make the right and wrong decisions. It doesn’t come down to toothpaste, to there being too many options on the aisle; it’s big life goals, one as ambiguous as the next.

It’s looming–haunting–but it’s exciting too. Exciting knowing that either way I go, I can’t really go wrong. Either way I look at it, doors will open, and lead down a path. The path makes its own way through the grey; I doubt I’m going to pitfall to the third circle just yet.

So I’ve accepted it. Take a deep breath, look forward, and march on to your decisions; or hold off making them as long as possible.

The good thing about the grey areas is that they’re really big, which means that there are loads of options of how to meander.

 

MEandering | musing

In musing on 28 March 2011 at 11:40 pm

As far as work ethic goes, we all prefer the muse. At least I do.

But as another Meredith told me recently, muses don’t exist. Neither does writers block. No excuses. And since her name was Meredith, I put away my defensive missiles and flat out believed her. I have such great faith in fellow Merediths.

But instead of the academic grind, the meandering journey of discovery is quite preferable. It’s why I frequently pause in the middle of something – scribbling lyrical thoughts in margins, writing ideas on post it notes, creating drafts of links to elaborate later. Somehow it’s meaningful, entertaining the muse that delightfully interrupts, but never shows up when truly needed.

It’s the creative in me, and in all of us who share this attraction to distraction, thinking that penning down an idea will get me somewhere, one day.

If nothing else, it makes all of this academic (or not) nonsense endurable. It doesn’t speak much for productivity, but then again, we aren’t machines. Be vulnerable to being human, and see where it leads you. Give a little, and open your eyes to the return.

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demoralizing satorializing | musing

In musing on 28 March 2011 at 11:01 am

Scott Schuman is editor of The Satorialist, the most successful fashion blog of-the-moment, or really, for the past 5 or 6 years. Schuman is famous for photos of normal people on the streets, in casual stance, taking account of the fashion that appears not in the runway, but in the world.

There’s an excellent little YouTube documentary here, which explains what the Satorialist does – window shopping in other places, other neighborhoods. It’s one of the many places in which the beauty of the Internet has emerged; we no longer need locality in order to understand community.

In the fashion blog community, Schuman is king.

It’s why his Monday morning post caught me off-guard:

I saw this young lady in Milan several times this past season. She is one of the crop of new bloggers. I loved that she’s a bigger, curvier girl than most of the other bloggers who you see in the the press and tend to represent the genre.

The subtle thing she achieves so successfully in these two looks is to complement the sturdy but beautiful shape of her legs with an equally strong shoe. A daintier shoe would be overpowered but these shoes create a beautiful harmony for the lower half of her body.

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what we call a writer | musing

In musing on 21 March 2011 at 12:30 am

Conversely, therefore, we may call a “writer” any sender whose “message” cannot be summarized: a condition which the writer shares with the madman, the compulsive talker, and the mathematician, but which it is precisely writing’s task to specify. (Roland Barthes)

Writing certainly is madness.