Last week I clicked on the wrong button and inadvertently published the unfinished draft of an idea. No title, no picture, misspellings and all. When I realized what I’d done, I quickly took it down, but by then it had gone to everyone who subscribes. I received more mail from that “mistake” post than anything in recent months and was greatly blessed by the conversations. Since more has happened on the subject, I’m returning to the post, now edited and adding a related poem.
TOO MUCH NOISE
I mutter “Too much noise!” every day for a week and it takes me the whole 7 days to realize that’s the line.
I turn the car radio off
before backing out
and ride to class in silence.
What’s wrong with me lately, always hastening to
shut things off,
abandon articles after a paragraph,
sit close to exits?
All escape mode.
all the time.
FB feels like an assault.
I barely scroll.
So much noise lately
there’s no room for a salient thought.
I don’t even know what’s on my own mind,
except for the words “too much noise,”
which I mutter regularly
and wonder why it takes me a week to hear myself.
but cutting lines,
I am unable to withdraw enough
to get the silence I need.
I can’t even bear to write,
convinced as I am the world doesn’t need one more voice in it.
I’ve missed hearing the morning birds too many days in a row.
* * *
After writing that, I came across a post from Dolly Lee, saying she was fasting from media for 6 weeks. Ah, I’m so grateful for friends who, while I’m trying to choose between quitting everything altogether forever or not, suggest a 6-week break. There does exist a middle ground. I need reminders. Dolly’s post influenced me. I decided to put up some temporary boundaries. I’ll still respond to direct messages, but I’m not engaging with the news feed. 6 weeks. Just FB. The other evening I violated this fast. Mistake.
It was a Facebook ambush is all,
common as dirt.
Happens to me all the time,
picture from 5 years ago,
invitation to repost it,
perfectly innocent post of someone else’s happiness.
Can I rejoice with those who rejoice?
Yes, I can!
No need to say
where it took my thoughts.
Next day, wake
with a line I don’t want to pursue.
I write a poem I’ll trash before dying
because I don’t want sadness part of my legacy.
But today I wonder
if the unfixable things of life,
rather than being obstacles
whose disappearance I await
the essential building blocks
of something marvelous
I cannot yet see.