Handwritten sentiments and putting pen to paper are art forms that seem to be disappearing from the landscape of our lives. I so miss receiving letters from loved ones and, fondly, treasure boxes of old notes from friends that go back many moons. I’ve even saved a few letters I wrote, never delivered for one reason, or another. Though my handwriting has taken a turn towards the cellar (maybe it was never very good in the first place), I still write letters and record many thoughts the old fashioned way.
There is something about the act itself that is meaningful to me. Maybe it is the extra time it takes, as I try to make things legible. Perhaps, it’s envisioning my mom and dad sitting at their desks, penning their own emotions. For all the reasons it could be, it is undeniably the love I have for the person on the receiving end, that makes the process special. Read or not, understood or dismissed, I feel a little bit more of my heart is in the universe, where it belongs.
Recently, as I wrote, pages stacked one atop another, the indentions left called to me. Observing the inkless marks on page two, I thought about pressing through. It is easy to dismiss the impressions we leave on others every day.
Each moment, we make marks on the world with our touch. We help another, hurt a feeling, bring a smile, share a laugh. The simplest things may be the ones that matter most.
Scribbling through our day, we rarely see the affect of our actions. The stranger, who we helped for no reason other than the right one, goes home a little lighter because you lifted them. The waiter I admonished, because my day wasn’t going so well, ends his night dejected. Seen and unseen, the residual outcomes cut both ways.
Because we are, we touch. Just remembering that, on occasion, helps. I know it is cliche, but there is certainly a fine line between pleasure and pain. That mid-court barrier just may be our next word, our next press…
The indentions we leave will be interpreted in many ways. A story may be deciphered without the ink. Some are recreated as we trace the pattern left behind. The ridges, when felt, may read like a mysterious form of brail. All in all, the mark is made and has importance, beyond the author’s intent.
However the typeset is received, remember, it will be. A friend of mine once said, “Good writing is not written, it is experienced”. In life, the same is true for words less eloquent.
Our love and it’s opposite are left through the pressure of our pencil, whip of our tongue, lift in our embrace. My unsolicited advice for the morning is three fold:
Press – Live and experience what you write. Know each moment matters to many more than just you.
Feel the indentions – Understand, there are multiple ways to embrace the grooves; Accept.
Wonder – because, isn’t that all we can really do.
The story we are living is mysteriously amazing. We contribute our individual entry every moment; Words, sentences and paragraphs that bleed through to the next page, because we are.
Press,
William
Sent from my iPhone