Sometimes I think about dying. Maybe it's morbid, but it's what it is. Sometime I'll write about all that, but today I'm writing about writing.
One of the things I think about when I think about dying is: I haven't written a personal history yet. I've told my children that the volumes of poetry I've written—especially over the last few decades—speak more about me than any journal ever could. They know this is where they can go for my history after I'm gone. But even that part of my written history isn't well enough organized. (Some of the best poems are still on napkins or grocery receipts in a box in the closet . . . or is that box out in the storage shed? I can't remember.)
I was thinking about other ways to record the story, the important truths of my life. And one idea that seemed especially appealing came as I was working in the kitchen. I wrote it on the dry-erase board. "My Life In Third Person." I determined this would be at least one of my histories; not a history based upon chapters or seasons of growth or any such linear thing, but upon characters, people in the story who have become part of who I am and who have helped and are helping me become myself. Letters, if you will, to loved ones.
I have determined I will write this history here. On this blog. I will begin tomorrow (or someday soon thereafter) with a post for my son, Luke, as he was born on December 14th. I have no idea when the next Life In Third Person entry will come, but when it does I'll add it. And by the time I'm done, there will be a lovely, loving volume that someone can print from this blog and bind to pass on to whomever should be interested. I'll label each post to make it easier for you, whoever you are. Probably Lauren . . .
. . . maybe I'll start a new private blog for these posts. I'll let you know.
