I used to be hopelessly addicted to my I-zone camera. I carried it with me wherever I went, immediately pasting photos into my journal as I traveled and wrote. If you worked at a cafe in Oaxaca and you were kind to me, I would ask if I could take your picture and in you would go into my book. If you were a fancy pink cocktail umbrella, I would break your tiny toothpick body and paste you down flat, in all your pink glory onto the page. If you were a candy wrapper or a fortune from a cookie, you would not escape my glue stick.
I love keeping this online journal, but I sometimes miss the immediate experience of words on a page or how a drip of coffee or wine can turn into a painting.
I can’t cry onto this screen and have the ink bleed, or show you how the pages stick together from too much glitter glue. You will not get red smudges of oil pastel on your fingers from clicking through the pages here or imagine you smell the ocean air. There are no messes and accidents here in this tidy world.
But I love it just the same. It’s good here with you, all of us connecting in this strange virtual way, through pictures of our families and our neighborhoods, through the stories we tell about our lives. I am always moved and amazed by our desire to be connected to each other, to be in community.
It’s good here.
And I’m glad you guys are out there, telling me your stories too.