Does quality dissipate when spread thin?
I noticed several things about what this year looks like versus other years. My posts on this blog have been cut in half as I started my other writings on race and parenting. And both have suffered from my indulgence on sites like Facebook and Twitter.
Since the Times-Picayune quit publishing a daily, I’ve taken to getting my news off FB – I figure if something happened, I’ll hear it there unless I’m getting an alert from the New York Times – otherwise, it’s radio silence around here. So I say to myself at times I won’t go on Facebook or Twitter and I’ll just exist in a vacuum — then I break that promise.
I’ve taken to reading more and more and that has also led me to withdrawing more and more from an active life of here and there. In doing so, I’ve come to almost dread the occasions when I have to go out there and do whatever is out there unlike my former self who was a street rat by nature.
This morning after Zumba, I came home and did a quick shower/change and went to services at Anshe Sfard, the oldest synagogue in New Orleans and the only one that invited Martin Luther King to speak when he was passing through New Orleans in the 50s. I had met the rabbi at the Hanukkah Second Line and he had invited me to come. Everything about this shule down to the smell of the books made me think of my father and my years growing up under the shadow of his tallis and his voice – the deep rich baritone that sang at full volume causing everyone in the synagogue to turn and look at us – some respectfully and some not so. I was welcomed like the lost child by Esther and Sharon who adopted me immediately and the man who lived in Greenwich Village in the 60s and met the Beatles and then lived in Cuba painting murals on bars while Castro was coming to power and I was growing in my mother’s belly.
My two events tonight that I was venturing out to attend – I’ve nixed them as well, preferring instead to stay home and hang out with me. My BFF.
I’ve found myself in the clutch of taking one thing at a time rather than the myriad endeavors that used to overlap in my life. The riches of catching up with a friend on FaceTime yesterday made me snuggle up on the couch and joyously give my friend my all. The books deserve my full attention and not an attempt to read, clean, cook or exercise and so I find myself curling up with a book on my sofa looking outside at the large oak trees that I see from the tops of my windows. I’m cooking like a freak – for me! It’s crazy – I’m not cooking for anyone but me (and Tin) and it’s fabulous. I’m eating like a Queen. I gave a cauliflower a wine and bay leaf bath and then roasted it and enjoyed every single bite.
It’s hard to say if my writing has suffered from extending myself to two blogs – and having picked up work that scatters my day over multiple projects – I haven’t suffered because I’m narrowing my choices down and my to do list is as grand as ever but there is nothing marked URGENT on it, which gives me this sense of sitting here watching the wheels go round and round.
I’m 54, so it’s not as if I’ve entered old age, but I’ve walked through some threshold that is calming and indulgent and although I came through kicking and screaming, I can assure you I would implode if you tried to make me walk back through the door I came in. Here is plenty good, better than good, and it’s expansive too – something I find the most unusual is that in narrowing my concerns I’ve broadened my mind.