writing a blog is a strange thing. in a sense it’s purely for me: a form of expression, catharsis, a means (to try) to figure things out. to be inspired by life’s beauty…and to deal with its absurdity. but the flipside is that it’s completely public and it’s also a way for me to feel connected. to share my experiences. to honor people who have impacted my life. to reassure friends (and strangers) that their not alone.
i must admit that sometimes i wonder if i’m too schmaltzy. if all my navel-gazing and pondering is too syrupy or sentimental. when i hit publish, i sometimes cringe, crossing my fingers that i don’t offend (or make people gag) with my often emotional musings. but then a friend or coworker or family member comments. “thanks for the words. i needed that.” and i’m glad i set my doubts aside.
with age comes wisdom, and though i’m far from having all the answers, i at least have a point of view. and believe in it. through the process of working and writing and living, i’ve learned to step over the edge. trust my instincts. throw it all out there. risk being laughed at. risk being affirmed.
the photo above is of this kitschy outpost in the middle of a random industrial block on elston and division in chicago. it looks like a dilapidated shack on the river, but i believe it may even be an actual restaurant. though i’ve never stepped foot inside, it served its purpose.
whenever we pass by, en route to run errands, grocery shopping, racing to work, rattling off to-do lists in my head, i see it…and it makes me smile.
the campy hamburger wearing a top hat. his sidekick, the wiener. the life preservers with cutout legs hanging from them. the bright colors and cheesy nautical motif. they all scream out to the crazed city dwellers: “don’t take yourself so seriously!”
life’s too short. to worry about what people think. to chase after perfection that will always elude you. to wait (and keep waiting “for the right time”). to not spend time with your kids. to not prioritize your friends. to not share moments with your loved ones.
life’s too short. to vacillate. to question. to doubt. to not act. to not carve out a space of your own. to not pursue what you’re passionate about.
my sister-in-law leslie once went to a make-your-own-pottery place, and she brought along a quote that she transcribed onto her little work of art. i think it perfectly captures the sentiment of this post:
live as if this is all there is.