I hate that I’m doing this.
I swore off blogging a few years ago. There are a lot of reasons for that—some good and some bad—but that’s not what I’m here to write about.
Blogging is such a wonderful thing when it’s done well. The best blogs I’ve read are ones that make observations on life, offer a possible take-away, and send you on your way. Naturally, this is what I tried to do in the past with my own blog.
The trouble with taking my own observations and writing them down for others to read is that somehow, for one reason or another, once I had spent several hours trying to capture an observation and make it accessible for others it had turned sour: Every time I tried to help others grasp what I was grasping, I found I could no longer grasp it myself. Not only that; I had no more desire to grasp it in the first place.
What part of writing precious observations down turned them sour?
A couple weeks ago was Easter, and for a few weeks before that was the season of lent. This year, for the first time in my life, I decided to partake in lent: I was giving up video games and social media for forty days. The only social media outlets I would allow myself to engage in were ones that enabled actual, necessary communication with others(i.e. Facebook messenger).
To avoid going off on an unnecessary tangent, I’ll simply say that the reasoning for abandoning these things was because I felt I needed a good, long break from them. Plain and simple: I felt like my life had an anchor around its neck labelled, ‘video games and social media’.
I’m still unpacking the things I learned in that ‘lenten season’. I won’t try to explain them to you. See above.
Instead, I’ll do this:
There is a quote that floats around writing societies which has become a common phrase. You may know it. It goes like this:
“You don’t write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.”
- F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Social media and blogs gave me the impression that I had something to say, and I’m fairly convinced I’m not the only one who gets wrapped up in that illusion.
What I found when I partook in my lenten fast is that I certainly do have lots of good things to say; I have lots to say about love. I have plenty to say about God. I have so much to say about joy. I have loads and loads on how our society could be so much better. But when I took away the ability to say those things on a computer, I discovered the ability to say them without talking about them at all.
Rather than try to explain how deep and complex the love in a marriage is, I made dinner with my wife.
Rather than try to explain how God is found in the low places, I spent time with people in low places of life.
Rather than attempt to capture joy in a sentence, I ate meals with good friends.
Instead of telling society what was wrong with it, I started asking strangers how their day was going.
Did you catch it?
What am I saying about marriage or love when I make dinner with my wife?
What are you saying about God when you spend time with people in “low” places?
What are we saying about joy when we laugh with friends?
I want to write so much more; to bottle up what I’m trying to communicate in a perfect little package, but I can’t.
I think that’s because the things really worth communicating are far, far bigger than words.
