The Shape of a Memory

So, ah, hope you weren't holding your breath waiting for another blog post from yours truly.

So in the past 11 or so months, things have changed in my personal life, chief amongst them my relocation of most of my holdings and goods to the basement floor of my house. The term "man cave" is branching out from buzzword to irritating cliche, but the situation overlaps enough that I'll adopt it. The room in question has been in the planning stages for at least 2 years, the building stage for about half that, and the organization/feng shui-ity being applied for the past couple months. (Keep in mind "organization" involved putting literally thousands of CDs in alphabetical/chronological order from the dozens of cardboard boxes they were "living" in since we started doing foster care back in 2007.)

Part of moving my things involved rooting through a good chunk of my past and determining how much of it I need to preserve. Isn't it weird that certain parts, even eras of your life can be defined or summarized by trinkets? For instance, I found two trophies awarded to youth baseball teams I competed in. Obviously, I am not a Major League Baseball star, so insofar as how it affected my present day life is next to nil. I may throw the ball around in the backyard depending on what foster kids are into it, and I may see a Brewer/Beloit Snapper game if I can get the social, financial and obligational axises to coincide. Otherwise, baseball pretty much rolls on without me. I did meet a lot of cool kids and strengthened bonds with some kids I already did know (I grew up in a small neighborhood just outside of Green Bay, Wisconsin, so everybody ended up knowing everybody regardless.) I have a few as Facebook friends and would have a gentlemanly convo with others should the stars align, but I now live several counties away from the epicentre, and I doubt I'm the only one. So the trophies and their physical presence means precious little to who I am and what I do in 2011. And yet.... how many childhood hours did I invest in those two little trophies? You played 10-12 games a season maybe, each around 2 hours or so. Practice 1-2 hours a week as a team, maybe more. The 3 hour season-ending league banquet. And I did that for five or six years. (Although I mention my own time investment, let's not forget my brothers did it too. Plus my dad and mom paid the dues, did the transport, stayed to watch --dad was an umpire, too...dot dot dot.) Even the trophies themselves tell different stories. The small one I won my first year when I was drafted onto the perennial pee-wee powerhouse team, and I can say with clear convinction I had 0% to do with earning that first place trophy. Couldn't bat, couldn't field, couldn't ___________(action verb). The second one was larger and came half a decade later. I still was by no means even a role player, but by then I could actually catch pop flies (sometimes) and get on base by methods beyond being walked or being hit by the pitch. I had grown and actually learned something, so that one "means" more, even though they both say essentially the same thing.

Granted, throwing away/donating those things doesn't mean you're throwing the experience away per se. Heck, I played a season of bar-league baseball with some WAG co-workers in my mid-20s and had an absolute blast doing it. All I have from that is my t-shirt uniform that has an unsightly tear on the right breast. But me seeing the trophies can take me back in an instant, to the fields on the UWGB campus, to playing for Piggy Wiggly's and Tillman Landscape, to feeling mostly awkward and useless but also the thrill of catching my first pop-fly (the victim being my now sister-in-law's brother). The day will come --sooner than later -- the forest green t that was the jersey for that bar on S Gammon right by the old Fire Glazed Ham store (Old Time Bar?) will be retired. Does that mean I'll forget hanging out Friday evenings with Julie, Pete, Starr and the rest, of turning that double play the crowd popped for, of running up the score and having the score run up on us?

This has all been a weird way of re-dedicating myself to blogging more. It's easy to put things off, or to procrastinate, and I've done a fair share of both. But it shouldn't take me seeing 10 inch trophies or old t-shirts to remember the times of my past, and to celebrate them with others. Besides, if we're talking big picture, blog posts take up a lot less space here in the ol' man cave.

So I was thinking....

So why DO people read blogs?

I think wanting to connect to people is a basic human emotion, and being able to keep track of a person’s growth (be it spiritual, physical, etc etc.) can also be a way you yourself can rate your own growth. Back in the olden days, before internet, motorized transportation, traffic grids, etc. this sort of connection was confined to your general area. You’d probably be on pretty good terms with your neighbors and the people at your church, and how much else would depend on how willing you were to travel and where you travelled to. Nowadays, the internet allows us to span the globe and easily access thousands, if not MILLIONS, of potential friends. Yet, I would reckon a lot of you out there have only passing familiarity to your neighbors, and maybe only hobnob with a few people at your place of worship – if you even HAVE a place of worship you frequent.

The main point I’m getting to is the unique relation a blogger has to their audience: for the audience, a blog is a great way to get personal, but at a safe distance. You can follow someone’s relationship drama, experience their pain and anguish (at least as much as they are willing to share) just like you would a close friend. But chances are you won’t get that 2 a.m. “Screw me, I hate my life” confessional you might get from that hypothetical friend. It’s all berries and no nuts, quite literally. Plus, if someone’s online ruminations get to be too much, you can simply take it off your bookmark folder and move on with the rest of your life. Real friendships don’t tend to just stop like that. But yet, the blogger will sometimes reveal stuff they may only tell their bestest of the best friends.

Weird, eh?

So as I continue with my blogging experience, I have to look back upon myself. Exactly how much of myself do I want out there? I don’t plan on running for a political office any time, so I don’t have to censor any of my legally dubious endeavors. (Of course, all those who know me know that my legally dubious endeavors are between rare and scarce... can’t serve a buffet with an empty pantry!) I could give my thoughts and analysis of the great matters of the day, but I’d rather not come off as sermonizing or judgmental. How about my friends, relatives, etc? How much of their lives can I share? Simply put, it’s a tightrope to walk.

I know this was kind of a heavy blog, but it’s something that’s been nagging at me, and something I’m sure I’ll internally wrestle with a bit. Feel free to let me know your thoughts and feelings ... it’s interesting to know peoples’ differing philosophies, especially considering how new this whole enterprise is.