My thoughts are with the people of Ukraine today. I can’t imagine being at that bleeding edge — on the heals of the global crisis we’ve all endured.
Words fail me. Still, I put this few together as a small cry — that the war will be reduced to a battle — and that it will spell the “beginning of the end” for the perpetrator.
My ability to focus has been eroding. Strangely, with all the “connectivity” promised through technology, sometimes, my thoughts are reduced to evaporating cognitive “sound-bites” that disappear as quickly as they occur to me — as soon as they are uttered — in my brain.
I tell myself; there is value in an internal echo-chamber. There is value in repetition. No two moments are the same. The challenge is to seek out things worth repeating — things worth internalizing — things worth saying.
I put the phone on airplane mode. I seek deep linear focus.
Little by little, I trust the moment.
When it comes from that place, I trust the utterance.
Water collects, builds higher and higher — drop by drop. It overflows suddenly and drains out in a new, unforeseen direction. Until it breaks, we don’t know where it will go. Trust; it will break.
The central questions will ring through when one is listening. I heard the question, “Who am I playing this for?” — and the answer rushed in, “Myself.”
Now that I am gone, I want you to know that I worked everyday to make myself as happy as I could be. I pursued my interests. I was curious. I read about things. I turned some of my natural inclinations into my livelihood and it wasn’t the worst job I could have had. That’s something.
I want you to know that I’m proud of my family. I’m proud of the family I came from and I’m proud of the family I have created. I know that I contributed something simply by being there and maybe that’s the greatest contribution anyone can make — to be there.
I wish I’d had the courage to take a few more risks. Wish I could have loved myself enough to “toot my own horn” a little bit more. Wish I could have been brave enough to stand up to certain people who seemed clueless or strangely so selfish that they could hardly see anyone around them. Those nights when I lay in bed worrying about how things were going to turn out, I wish I could have just trusted myself more. Wish I could have trusted the universe more.
All in all, I’d say I was good person. I always took a moment, if I had a moment, to check in with myself to see what my instincts were telling me about what was the right thing to say or do. When I didn’t have a moment, I went with my gut. Most of the time, my gut was right. I knew always to think of the other person and to act with empathy. I’m not sure how I knew that.
So, I guess I’m gone now. My time on Earth is over. I feel so lucky that I got to be here — even though it seems it could never be for too long. I wish I could see the way the world is going to change and evolve. I wish I could see more of what is to come — but that won’t be of my time. I’ve gotten to live my own unique span of history and that will have to be enough. I’m thankful that I was also blessed with such pragmatism.
At the risk of being obvious, all of you know that I loved you. I guess I didn’t say it very often — but you know I did.
I’ll miss you.
All my love,
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Endure through change. My father, Edmond Roy McMath died on January 31st, 2020 — weeks before the world changed. He always told me to “press on” — to endure. This post is for him.
Process is more important than what one makes. I know less about “where I’m going”, now, than I used to think I did. I can’t go where I’ve already been. Can’t go back; I can only go forward.
Artist On Kawara inspires me to imitate his daily processes in the digital realm. Through his inspiration, and by my own instincts, I will find my way to honor the day.
“I got up…” = Tweet.
“I went…” = Instagram.
“I am still alive.” = Blog.
“Today” = Songs. Poems.
“Creativity is the belief that something is worth doing.” What a struggle that concept is right now. It feels as though so much has been stripped away – so much is broken.
At the Guggenheim in 2015, I recall seeing an exhibit of On Kawara’s work. Burned in my memory is part of his seminal series “I got up.” Between 1968 and 1979, Kawara sent two postcards each day with the phrase “I GOT UP AT” followed by the precise time of day he got out of bed. It was worth doing. I am so grateful.
Christopher Nupen said, “We take chances when we exchange words with other human beings.”
I’m beginning to take chances again. I’m assessing what I believe is worth doing. I’m getting up.