I am reviving this blog for the time being perfectly aware of the obnoxious audacity that this has much purpose in the world. Looking back, I was able to process a lot of new information and think out ideas through writing, which is what I do. Speaking? Not so much.. I recently declared myself the Ikea of story tellers. I like using my voice, but not to sketch and color- that I do with words, albeit mediocre-ly.
I really miss long form, to be honest. Long ago, and probably mentioned in the archives here, I read/heard about how communication even beginning with how the brain forms thoughts, is affected by our cute limits on twitter and one-liners. The brain needs to flex like your arms and wings. So, even if this exists in a vacuum it has that assertion of space.
….which brings me to what I’m struggling with now. I’m in a new History MA program, this time at Winthrop University. It is much different than UNCC in that there isn’t a Public History track, but there is apparently an oral history presence. Right now I’m trying to decide whether to return to the Beech Fork project for my course in Oral History or maybe start a new topic- I needed to decide this probably a while ago. One dream is to study Professional Wrestling during Segregation in CLT and surrounding areas. My hypothesis being that it was one “sport” that was integrated, but I would love to speak to any surviving wrestler, promoters or attendees. Too bad I have ABSOLUTELY NO CONTACTS and can’t be the nice white girl going in expecting people to talk to her.
It’ll just be different because everything is different from 2019. Every blessed thing. Change is the only constant, remember? I am not as “pumped” about it, though, because the world being on fire, crippling anxiety and insecurity everywhere, kind of kills the buzz. I can only take one class (a baby step) because I am also working my day job and teaching 4 classes (relax- they’re 8-week classes), raising a pre-teen, and there is only so many hours in a day to function and get my TV/film/reading/music/doomscrolling time in. Self-care is self-care. But the struggle or existential question right now is why? – why do I feel compelled to write this, to take a class? I feel compelled to do some podcasting as well (I know I know.. that’s been in production for ages) – but why?
- Neuro-chemical need for broadcasting experience and thought?
- The nihilistic understanding that nothing matters unless you’ve created evidence?
- Deep psychological need for attention/validation/relatability (my word)
- Crippling fears of morality?
- Natural young-soul curiosity and fascination with living/love of humanity?
All these and a bag of cooler ranch Doritos.
No one has to read this or hear my point of view and I don’t blame them for scrolling or tuning into something far more edifying or entertaining. But, once in a while someone will say that I made them think or laugh- and my god is that electric. To be a light that recognizes the light in others or be the one they discover- that is a simple, but powerful electricity. So maybe I’ll think of myself as a current and if I took physics I could be more eloquent with that analogy.
Here is a spark. This gun’s for hire even if we’re just dancin’ in the (Socratic) dark. No one gets out alive.