(Dis)connected

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I don’t know why it’s been so difficult to come to this space, to give voice to something inside me waiting to come out. I used to find comfort in the art of an ordinary hour. I used to hand over a quiet walk or a glance at the sky to words.

Lately, it feels harder to do that. Maybe it is too much like giving away these small moments all together. Maybe I’m not as engaged with the world as I once was. Or maybe the opposite. Maybe it’s easier than it used to be to live them and not reflect upon them. I don’t know.

Likes and comments, retweets and shares — the new ways we show one another we’re out there, we’re listening. I’ll post something somewhere, refresh and wonder what it means to someone else. Are they feeling the same? Are they as outraged, as sullen, as nostalgic, as passionate, as confused, as happy, as curious as me? And, somehow, these new ways we connect, don’t feel like a connection at all.

They feel brief. Fleeting. Like there’s only enough time to say ‘me too’ but not enough time to sit and understand how we are the same.

I feel like we might all be hungry for something we’re not getting.

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9 thoughts on “(Dis)connected

  1. I don’t know about you, but especially since I’ve had kids, I search for the deeper connections with moms — the 2-3 hour play dates or girls nights out, where we can really connect and laugh and cry and find meaning in all of this. Though…I do share some blog posts, and there’s one in particular that I share when a mom has a miscarriage, one that helped me when I had mine, and so sometimes blog posts or essays or articles do join us with one another. Interesting how we change, huh?

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    1. Oh Trish, I miss you. How I wish that we lived closer for those playdates and nights out. Same here – I guess I’m searching for more meaningful connections at this stage as well. Though I do find comfort in certain essays and blog posts. I guess it’s similar to the connections I have with a book. The words resonate and affect me deeply, but the connection to the authors isn’t real. Hmm. That’s another thing I’ll have to reflect upon.

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  2. Ooh. So strange. Your post landed in my box as I am writing one about connective tissue in the body and in life. I’ll link my readers to this, if that’s okay. It’s true, our writing and the Interwebs is a certain kind of connection but ultimately not what we really need….

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  3. I think I’m looking for this. At least from blogs and other people’s writing. But it’s hard right now. I know exactly what you mean when you say: “Maybe it is too much like giving away these small moments all together. Maybe I’m not as engaged with the world as I once was. Or maybe the opposite. Maybe it’s easier than it used to be to live them and not reflect upon them.” We’re in California right now, and yesterday I met a mom at the beach/park and then another, and we all talked and shared, and one gave tips on the things to do here with kids – real things, things the locals do. And when we all said goodbye, it felt strange that I won’t see these women again. And I know I’ll blog about that at some point… but it just reminded me that connection is sometimes hard, but it’s still possible.

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    1. I love this story about meeting the other Mom in California and feeling like the connection, however short, was real. I had a similar experience the week before I left Brooklyn, a very meaningful conversation with a Mom on the playground. We still keep in touch through text and send photos and updates to one another. I guess in this age of brief connections, we know when one is feels true and real.

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