Poor Livejournal.
I gave up Facebook for Lent. I cannot believe how much more time I have available now - or how much I think in snippets rather than lengthy thoughts worthy of a proper journal post. I feel like it's done much to further my ADD symptoms (collectively, for the whole of society perhaps). I used to relish the time spent pouring out my heart in this journal, or coming up with clever observations to share. Now life offers such few and far between opportunities for this kind of time commitment, I can hardly believe it. I feel like I've lost something significant.
I also feel ridiculously un-creative. I used to sit down to my journal and do a page of stream-of-consciousness writing. I wrote about my time at university as a second-go-around student. I wrote about my mother's illness and death. I wrote letters to my as-yet born Joshua. I wrote about the boys, the heartbreak, the new boys, the new heartbreak. I had lots to document in those days.
It seems to me now that the only thing I have to document are 140 character bits about the charming (or unbelievably aware) things Josh says these days. Or to spark some kind of debate (seriously, who has a leg to stand on if they're going to argue that McDonald's is a fair and equitable company that does anything good for people or the earth?) Not that those are bad things. I want everyone to know how brilliant is my boy, and I want people to start thinking about poverty and their biased opinions of those who struggle with it. I also want everyone to know who gives the best massages. I want to complain about my lack of chocolate.
But there is an inherent value missing in those mini-posts. It's the value of time spent going deeper, examining, considering, thinking. I miss that so much, I could bloody cry. Especially because these days I'm doing such fascinating work in my Master's degree (right now, a course on ethics) and I bet I'd have a much better understanding of what I'm learning if I took some time to work it through in my journal. But instead, I do the minimum that's required in everything. I read my course work, answer the questions, pop on to the next thing. Sweep the house, put the carrots in the crock pot, nurse the baby. Pick up the kid from school, load the dishwasher, set the table. Wash the diapers, make a cup of tea, nurse that baby again. Finally, sleep. Thinking? What thinking?
I used to consider my journal a time of prayer, too. Now that that time is gone, I feel so much more spiritually shallow than I did before Facebook, before babies and 5 year olds, and husbands and houses. It's a giant pity. I need more.
I also feel ridiculously un-creative. I used to sit down to my journal and do a page of stream-of-consciousness writing. I wrote about my time at university as a second-go-around student. I wrote about my mother's illness and death. I wrote letters to my as-yet born Joshua. I wrote about the boys, the heartbreak, the new boys, the new heartbreak. I had lots to document in those days.
It seems to me now that the only thing I have to document are 140 character bits about the charming (or unbelievably aware) things Josh says these days. Or to spark some kind of debate (seriously, who has a leg to stand on if they're going to argue that McDonald's is a fair and equitable company that does anything good for people or the earth?) Not that those are bad things. I want everyone to know how brilliant is my boy, and I want people to start thinking about poverty and their biased opinions of those who struggle with it. I also want everyone to know who gives the best massages. I want to complain about my lack of chocolate.
But there is an inherent value missing in those mini-posts. It's the value of time spent going deeper, examining, considering, thinking. I miss that so much, I could bloody cry. Especially because these days I'm doing such fascinating work in my Master's degree (right now, a course on ethics) and I bet I'd have a much better understanding of what I'm learning if I took some time to work it through in my journal. But instead, I do the minimum that's required in everything. I read my course work, answer the questions, pop on to the next thing. Sweep the house, put the carrots in the crock pot, nurse the baby. Pick up the kid from school, load the dishwasher, set the table. Wash the diapers, make a cup of tea, nurse that baby again. Finally, sleep. Thinking? What thinking?
I used to consider my journal a time of prayer, too. Now that that time is gone, I feel so much more spiritually shallow than I did before Facebook, before babies and 5 year olds, and husbands and houses. It's a giant pity. I need more.