Just for fun

So, what did I do this weekend?

I fell down a flight of stairs.

That's right, you heard me.  I. Fell. Down. A flight. Of stairs.  It was like something right ouf of a comic, like Tom & Jerry or Looney Toons.  The carpet on the second floor was wet from a shampoo-ing and the stairs are a nice slick wood.  So, as I stepped on the second step, both of my feet went flying forward and I landed on my backside and flopped-y flopped down the next few stairs to the landing.

Today I have an enormously ugly and not all that painless black and blue on my tush.  I'd post a picture, but that would be TMI.

Bookworm

Since I've been in MA, I've had a lot of time to go to the library and read a number of books.  The most recent book I read was Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, which is essentially a memoir chronicaling her life during the year after she divorced her husband and traveled to Italy, India and Indonesia to find herself.  While I was reading it (and sometimes remembering one of the other books I've read this month - The Geography of Love, yet another memoir about one woman's romantic love and it's loss to cancer), I realized that there is a reason why I generally don't like memoirs.  They feel incredibly self-indulgent and selfish to me, because the authors are generally saying, "This is my life.  And it's so interesting, or relate-able, that people are going to want to read about it."

Which of course, reminds me of all these things we do to keep in touch these days - Facebook, Twitter, and yes, even Blogger.  So many of us are so completely wrapped up in ourselves that we put our whole life and all it's intimate details online for just about anyone to see.  It's a delicate balance to use these powerful tools to keep in touch with family and friends (or to cultivate new ones), but to still keep a part of ourselves private, or to not sound like an egomaniac.

It is why many times my Blog is not really that personal.  I don't think the "internets" need all that private information about me and my loved ones.  I talk about what I do, but not generally about how I am feeling or what I am thinking.  I also try to keep the details of what is happening to my immediate family out of the picture entirely - I have no authority whatsoever to talk about their lives here.  And I know that is what separates me from real writers, who let it all hang out for everyone to see.

I also do what I can to keep my internet content from being easily found.  I am not really looking for an audience, but am hoping to keep in touch with the people I have come to know over the years and really care about.

I think that sometimes we all get carried away with our ability to communicate so effortlessly through the power of technology that we forget how important physical presence and privacy really are.  Writers like Elizabeth Gilbert show us that living in the moment, laughing, crying, eating abundantly, drinking wine with friends, etc., etc. - these are the necessities of life and make it worth living.  But where she fails to captivate me is by throwing it all out there, making her life and her emotional story the example for us to follow.  It must be exciting to be on that journey of self-discovery and growth, but it seems (yes, I'll say it) arrogant to think that everyone on earth should read about it and know her on such a personal level.

Of course, I am projecting my own discomfort onto her.  The book itself is quite lovely; it has been translated into so many languages and purchased millions of times so there should be no question about the validity and captivation of her story.  BUT.  I find it a really interesting psychological case study, I suppose.  Essentially, she is making money by selling stories about her most intimate experiences in life.  In the end, she and I are very different people, with different ideas of growth and privacy.