Reader, let me share a moment, one that’s been brewing not just over months or years, but a lifetime. Recently, I noticed a vein pulsing at the edge of my vision—not out of strain, but awareness, a physical echo of the time I’ve felt slip by. Life’s moments ebb and flow, yet to those around me, I might just blend into the backdrop, another face partly lit by the passing glow of screens, seeking connection but finding isolation.
I have yearned to be seen, ached to be heard, wept to be understood. The distance between what is said and what is done often feels vast, as actions and words seldom form a seamless whole. Within the confines of family, the broader strokes of society, the polarities of belief, the breadth of knowledge, the spectrum of opinion, and the dichotomy of intent—lies a landscape of extremes.
From a young age, I possessed a blend of keen observation, intuition, and an analytical approach. My realization was simple yet profound: everyone is selling something, whether it be a belief, a product, or an ideal, often without the support of solid facts. This awareness emerged not from spoken words but from watching, listening, and analyzing behaviors long before I could articulate their significance. This insight, however, didn’t come without its challenges. It became a source of contention, subtly at first. It took decades to fully grasp the reasons behind the disapproval from certain quarters. A discussion for an other time.
This evening, I’m surrounded by family, a world away from the solitude of my Blueridge mountains. In our efforts to support those we love, we often extend ourselves, and too often, over-extend ourselves, but this journey is different. Instead of offering pieces of my soul for communal consumption with reckless, self-abandon, I’ve chosen two companions.
First “The Overview Effect” by Frank White (4th Edition), resting on my shelf until now. Its narrative, detailing astronauts’ transformative realizations of Earth from afar, mirrors the awareness I aspire to weave into my own writing. Through the pages I feel the soft thrumming of hope. How often I’ve discovered poetry in the heart of science. My second guide is perspective, upon which I rely to bring depth and dimension to my writings, to uncover the layers of meaning in our shared human experience.
This silence of mine, this restraint, it’s been too long; it’s started to erase the expressions I’ve yearned to share.