Peripheral Vision

Just before we left the US, I sent out an email to everyone in my very extensive address book announcing our departure and linking them to my blog, should they want to keep in touch or follow along vicariously. From the number of people that ever leave comments on my blog (mostly people I have met virtually or with a few notable exceptions in the flesh only since my adventure began), you might never suspect that I maintain fairly regular contact with over 150 people that I have ‘collected’ over the years. Granted, I am no Aunt Bette, who managed to remember and mark the birthday, anniversary, and any other card-worthy event of EVERY person she EVER met in her entire life (God Bless and Keep Her), but I do try. I send post cards and Christmas cards (most years) and while I do get personal satisfaction from keeping this electronic diary, every entry is written with fond thoughts for all the people I know/love who might be reading it.

Oddly enough, I know for a stone cold FACT, that the people I consider my absolute closest friends – those I have known since 3rd Grade (Oscar!), or Junior High (Beki!), or High School (Kathy!) do not, and WILL not read my blog. Ever. I reckon they think that anything I have to say to them should be said in person, and honestly, a few words just sprung to mind. I suspect Sofia might read, but I know she is busy, and I know Doug checks in on occasion when he is not too busy cracking one under the table over Lindsay Lohan mug shots or picking his mother up from the drunk tank at Elmwood. I also know that a lot of my friends and family (except maybe Lee and anyone born before computers existed, except Mom) read my updates with any regularity, even though, for various reasons they do not leave comments or write to me very often. At the bottom of my inbox is a pile of old emails that I just can’t bring myself to delete. Maybe because I think that one day they will serve as a reminder to follow up with someone, or maybe they are people I just don’t want to lose. Well, evidently, I too am floating around in the bottom of other people’s inboxes.

Last week, I got an email from one of those people at the bottom of my inbox. I wrote a long list of praises here about him, but I had to delete it, not only because it sounded like a eulogy (all about how he made my mother and my grandmother cry at my high school graduation), but because I truly he believe that one day he will be a senator or maybe even president (or at least a circuit judge in Fresno) and that a mention on the blog of an accused (but acquitted) felon might not serve his best interests in the long run. He wrote to me because he is turning 40 this year (I believe he was the baby of our graduating class) and something I wrote about it last November resonated with him (although he thinks it is for different reasons – he’s wrong – they are the same reasons!) I replied, reciting the sentiments expressed above, and he replied with surprise that I felt that way about him, having assumed he existed only on my periphery. Interestingly, I have always been under the assumption that I only ever existed on the periphery of his (and every one else at that damn school) as well.

And this is what got me to thinking enough to get to writing…on the value of collecting people who knew you when you were young, even if they are people who simply knew you when you were younger than you are today. Life races by so quickly, and so often we only have time to focus on the road ahead. But the periphery of our lives are filled with people who occasionally catch glimpses of our true selves as we whizz past. The human brain has the amazing capability to create whole pictures from many small parts. The unexpected addition of a new part can sometimes redefine the image you had of yourself. Say, for example, you are attached to an image of yourself as a nerdy outcast; it can be eye-opening to learn that someone you thought was cool thought of you as intelligent, witty, and brave...even if she thinks of herself as a nerdy outcast.

I feel compelled to end this with a call to action - to tell you to reach out to some long lost acquaintance and tell them you thought they were all right, or that you thought about them at all and then I might have made a pitch to leave me a note letting me know you stopped by for read. But, as I was searching for links for this post, I came across a similar plea on Eddie's blog, and I quickly realized my own shortcoming in leaving comments for other people, and then I felt silly for begging for attention. So, I must persevere to consider that I write for myself and me alone, for the satisfaction of working out my own triumphs, fears, and insecurities, and simply be ever so grateful to anyone who takes the time to sift through the effluent of my mind.

Thank you.

And Happy Birthday, Sam.