The World According to EDW

Blogging is a interesting way of writing. There is always the choice to write it straight or to tell a story. Do I write the bare bones, or do I take the path through the woods? Who am I writing for, anyway? Does it matter?

I admire bloggers who can write it out straight and not sound pedantic. I admire those who never lose sight of who they write for. I admire those who tell you what you are waiting for, the ones who hit the right note. I admire those whose paths are clear enough for me to follow.

I write because I forget. I write because I want to capture the moments, commit them to my memory, tell the story of them. I write because I have whole days I'd like to put in a box and keep - the funny, the sad, the tense, the silly, the sublime. All of it.

But my shame is that I forget it all.

Maybe the writing helps. Maybe it's just a poor substitute for my memories of my life. All this time, for probably the last 30 years or so, for as long as I can remember, I have liked fiction more than reality. I have liked the stories I told and retold, the words I fashioned. I have liked my view of myself, very much so.

Last night, in Vancouver, we went to see the band Cake. They have a song called "Sheep Go to Heaven" and the line in it I love is, "As soon as you're born you start dying, so you might as well have a good time".

This sentiment resonates, and it's why I book plane tickets to go see friends. I have lots of imperfections in my life, in myself. I hope that one of them isn't failure to love properly. That would be nearly unforgivable. Debt and bitchiness and fervent opinions can be moved past, but not to grab onto what you have is sheer stupidity.

So I can tell you that we went to Steveston the first day and ate fish and chips. That we went to Stanley Park and the Aquarium, that I saw Beluga whales for the first time. That we ate hot Montreal meat and satay and sushi and spotted prawns and Canadian wheat berry. That we drank beers I'd never heard of, and lots of champagne. That Richelle was surprised and pleased and Rob was so excited to see us. That we made new friends and walked across a scary bridge and survived many a heated discussion. That Richelle drove me to Richmond for a bag when I already had one, and that we went to the No.5 Orange and that yes, Vancouver is a beautiful city and so green.

Or I could just say that I have discovered I like reality, in all its harshness and imperfection. I like it very much so. And I like remembering, because when your reality looks like this and the pictures bring it all back, what's not to like? Maybe, this time, the only story that needs to be told is the one we aren't done living yet.


I would be absolutely remiss if I didn't thank my beloved friends Rob and Richelle for the last five days. I love you both.

Labels: blogging, even better than the real thing, friends, life, light enough to travel, we are family, writing