
what a conundrum. for what are we if not in total relation to others? i am a woman because there are others who aren't; i am a writer because somebody reads my writing; i am smart because there are others who are less so; i am stupid because there are others who are brilliant; and so on.
i know of a woman who was killed in a plane crash, together with her children and mother-in-law. i have since occasionally thought of her husband, a man who lost all of his familial identifiers in one moment: no longer a husband, no longer a father, no longer a son. in his case, being able to say "i am mine" is no accomplishment.
a friend asked me why i started this blog - she wasn't the only one - and i had a hard time coming up with an answer that wasn't totally pathetic ("because if i'm going to lead a pointless life i might as well write about it"). i think hegel would find it slavish to muse on one's private life in the public domain - talk about lack of self-containment! but i find myself looking forward to writing for an audience, no matter how infinitesimal or even imaginary.
even if i cannot say truthfully that i am mine - and i can't - i have something that is mine to share.
3 comments:
ok, but what did you have for dinner? ;)
my old fave, pb from the jar, with a side of trader joe's ginger cat cookies. i am all about balance.
I might side with Hegel on this one. You are a writer regardless of whether anyone reads what you write (the act of writing is intrinsic to being a writer; being read is incidental.) I find that liberating.
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