Virtual, real, life

I've come to the conclusion that 2008 burned me out. I know I'm not the only one; most of us have had too much stress, too little income, too much worry and anxiety. For me, part of this has manifested in real difficulty writing much of anything, let alone blog posts. I miss blogging terribly, I miss writing and completing thoughts. I have dozens of half-written posts, most of which you will likely never see. They are the ashes of the past year.

It's a new year now, so I'm sallying forth with what will be, I hope, new energy and interest in my own life and the world around me. With any measure of grace this will include less self-indulgent blathering and more frequent, interesting posts. We'll see.

Onto the topic at hand. I've been thinking lately about the intersection of technology and real human interaction. This was sparked by my current interest in Twitter and Facebook. I'd avoided them for sometime - I've avoided most social networking sites, feeling both that they were more for a younger demographic and that I didn't want to get sucked in, but my reticence has crumbled. I'm tweeting and posting updates. Yikes. But this, along with sites like postsecret, 1000thingsthatmatter and nings have gotten me thinking about the relative value of virtual vs actual interaction and the stories we tell in these venues. I'm not even thinking about gaming, which I know very little about, or blogs or youtube or... I know, this topic has been done to death, but thinking about our narratives in these spaces is new to me. While I likely won't say anything new I might give it a different context. If nothing else I can think it out a little more here.

Once upon a time we lived our lives, told our stories within the confines of a village. We knew our neighbors intimately. Most details were all but public. Our lives are very different now. We move from our private, palatial homes (even a one-bedroom flat in America is large by global and historical standards) to our enclosed cars to our office cubicles. We don't have anything near the easy opportunity for meaningful, face-to-face interaction that we did a generation ago.

Instead we have screens. Through my computer screen I have relationships with people around the world, some of whom I have never met in the flesh, yet I worry about them, their trials and tribulations are real to me. The other day a friend asked me over lunch (a real interaction) about a someone we both know via Facebook. She referred to him as a "friend" and I flinched. While I care about him because of our virtual interaction, he isn't quite real to me. He is virtual. If I never heard from him again I would likely never know what happened to him, because he isn't part of the physical fabric of my life. But the relationship I have with this man is still real, still has emotional impact.

Who we are to each other is entirely moderated by technology. Does that make it less legitimate? Less real? I don't know. I do know it gives me far more latitude with the stories I can tell, the narrative I can create with my life.

The virtual world gives us permission to be much more creative with our narratives than we might be in the physical world. I can crop my photo to hide the parts I don't like, that you would see if we were in the same room. I can make up stories about my adventures more easily, because you won't see the pauses while I think about what might have happened next. I can reveal things about myself I might not tell those closest to me, because I know we will never meet; even if we did you probably wouldn't recognize me. I know this happens all the time; I tend to assume much of what people tell me about themselves online is kind of like a big lonely hearts ad - you may say you're 6'1" but really, you might be 5'10" That's okay, it's who you want to be.

All of that said, is it bad? Is it misrepresentation? Maybe. And maybe not.

If we are creatures defined by our stories, defined by the stories we tell, these virtual worlds give us the chance to create ourselves over and over again. We can tweak ourselves to be who we want to be. I don't know that this is always a bad thing. Sure, there are plenty of opportunities for mischief and misrepresentation, but it also gives us a chance to play pretend in a collaborative space with thousands of others also playing pretend. It gives us a chance to make connections between our hoped-for selves and others' hoped-for selves.

I may never physically meet the man my friend referred to, but I can give him the gift of believing him when he tells me his stories, just as he gives me the same gift when I tell mine. These virtual communities, while in no way foolproof, guaranteed benign, or a substitute for real interaction and friendship, offer a new way to build relationships that perhaps let us play pretend for just a little bit longer.

(c) 2009 Laura S. Packer

Not dead or dying

Thank you for your patience while I got back in the writing saddle (I know, that's a terrible metaphor). It's been a pretty wild ride recently (note I'm dogged with metaphor once I get started) and I've been given the gift of story fodder aplenty.

Let's start with Thanksgiving week and why I really should be writing a screenplay. For the record, if any of you steal these ideas I will set Cerebus on your butt. Really.

You've seen at least one of those films, you know the ones I'm talking about. The kind of family tragi-comedies where everyone gathers together for some holiday or another and every single family member has their own agenda but there is a loving resolution in spite of bittersweet feelings. That was my Thanksgiving this year. Now, I know many of the people who attended my Thanksgiving read this blog (hi Mom and Dad!) so I won't go into detail to protect everyone's feelings, but suffice it to say that the dinner itself, while wonderful and loving, should have been filmed. It was a cast of characters.

I was certainly one of those characters. For the sake of argument, let's make me the main character, since this is my theoretical movie. The anxious host and daughter, preparing her first Thanksgiving feast for her parents, finding herself in a new role, trying to carry the family tradition and start new ones, while the love of her life and principal support is on the other side of the country finding himself in a new role too. These two are trying to support each other through entirely inadequate phone calls. As if this wasn't stressful enough the main character is struggling with a couple of additional pressures. Coming issues at work that she can't talk about. A sick friend. And she just got the word that she might have a painful, debilitating and quite likely fatal disease. See? It's a screenplay!

I can just see the pitch session. Studio execs in casual clothing that costs more than I make in a month. Me, trying to look cool. Failing.

Okay, here it is. Get this. There's this woman, she's hosting Thanksgiving for the first time, which is nerve-wracking enough, but at the same time her doctor has told her she might have a fatal disease. Oh, and let me tell you aout the dinner guests...

Never mind, no one would believe it once I got rolling.

As mentioned in the title to this blog post, I'm not dying. I'm fine. There was only a slim chance I was, but you know how it is, it's hard not to focus on the scariest outcome. Which leads me to the real point of this post.

The week between my annual physical, when my doctor mentioned the very slim chance that I had a rare disease, and the visit with the specialist who confirmed that I did not have the disease but instead had a less rare utterly harmless and likely to go away disorder, was hard. Really hard and made all the harder by the colliding facts of my partner's distance and Thanksgiving.

In retrospect, now that it's done and I know I'm okay (okay with blotches on my feet) I can now see it as a gift.

I reached out to friends and family I might not have otherwise contacted. I was reminded that I am not alone and am, in fact, surrounded by people who care for me. And in turn by people I care for.

I am reminded quite forcefully that this life is a gift, that this is a one-way journey and it behooves me to make the most of it while I can. I write about this often, if you read this blog with any regularity you know that, but the past week was a punch to the gut reminding me that I could, in fact, die tomorrow. If not from some disease then from an accident or anything else. So I may as well live while I can, dying in the moment or not.

I am reminded of my own strength. While I had some pretty tough moments in there, I kept going. I didn't curl up. I was able to keep moving, believing as I always have that you do the best you can in any given moment.

And I was reminded that this world is so big, so vast, I was reminded to be grateful for my brief existence.

It was truly a week of Thanksgiving. For those I love, who love me; for the support in my life; for the plenty I am fortunate enough to know and share; for the sound of the geese in the night and the strength of trees. I am alive. And so are you. Thanks.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Teaser: Definitions

Okay, NaNoWriMo is over, I finished (52K+ words in 26 days) and I'm ready to start blogging again. I have a couple of posts I'm working on that will go live soon.

In the meantime I wanted to share this with you.

Someone I follow on twitter suggested looking up definitions of the word "free" on google. For those of you who don't know, you can get all kinds of definitions from google by typing define: . It scours the internet and gives you results, some accurate, some quite amusing. I don't recommend this as a replacement for your dictionary.

In any case, I looked up "free" by typing "define: free" and got a slew of responses. This was my favorite, from a marketing website:

A magic word with some strings attached. Conditions on which a free offer is made should be clearly stated.

I love the image of a magic word with strings attached. And anyone who has read the Arabian Nights already knew there was no such thing as a magic word without strings attached.

I promise, a new thoughtful, amusing post is coming soon. Thanks for your patience.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

words, words, words

This is just a quick update to let you know I'm still here, still alive and that I will be back in full force soon.

I'm still pushing my way through NoNoWriMo. In the last 23 days I've written over 43,000 words. That's a lot, at least for me.

For the most part I'm really enjoying it, the story has only fought be at one or two points, the rest of the time it's been a romp through my imagination and vocabulary. Some of the words I've gotten to play with have included:

• susurrus
• moonglade
• filigree
• bannock

and more. Whew!

Once I finish I'll be back here, rambling and writing as always. I'd welcome any topics suggestions, story requests, etc. In the meantime, take care and have a Happy Thanksgiving (if you celebrate it) and a lovely remainder of November.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

The written word

I am participating in NaNoWriMo again this year. For those of you who may not know, NaNoWriMo is a breakneck attempt to write a novel of 50,000 words in one month. The theory is that if you have a deadline you are more likely to strive to meet it, more likely to finish. At the end of the month you end up with a novel, albeit in all likelihood a crappy one.

I participated last year and had a blast, finished a novel of over 50,000 words and developed a better writing discipline than I've ever had in my life. This blog was born out of NaNoWriMo; after I finished the novel I really wanted to keep writing with some real level of intensity but wanted an audience and purpose. While I love writing, doing so without an audience or deadline is challenging, so I began blogging.

I've written before on the differences between writing and telling. It's a tricky thing, writing my told stories seems to suck the life out of them, but I am trying, for this year's NaNoWriMo, to write down some of the stories I tell, the Crazy Jane stories in particular. I decided to risk this for a couple of reasons.

• I know these stories really well, they're in my bones and blood. I think they will remain alive even if I write them down. The characters are so much a part of me that I have some confidence that becoming written won't hurt them.
• These are really good stories; frankly, these are really good characters, people I love. If I were to be hit by a bus tomorrow I want to know they won't be lost.
• And I am enjoying the chance to really craft them. Usually it's the play with the audience I love, but here I have the chance to pick out just the right word, take the time to consider synonyms and the luxury of detail.

So this feels like a risk. But oh, it feels so good to be writing like this again, thousands of words every day, letting my fingers be a direct conduit for my imagination. I'm sure blogging will be affected for the month; I'm equally sure my writing life will change again after doing this a second time. It will be interesting seeing where the journey takes me. thanks for being patient with me.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

We are the change we're looking for

Now the work really begins.

Voting

Like millions of others, I voted this morning. Like millions of others, I stood in line. This was the first time in my voting life that I've ever had to stand in line to vote. We take voting for granted in this country.

I was so very glad to stand in line, so proud of my neighbors for coming out and standing there at 7:00 in the morning, waiting to have their say. I kept getting teary. There were parents with their kids and I remembered my mother bringing me into the voting booth with her, remembered her explaining to me that it's important to vote and this is how you do it.

As I was walking to the polls I passed an older white woman slowly making her way back home after voting. She had an "I voted" sticker on and a big Obama button. I stopped to tell her I liked her button; she lifted up her fist and said, "He's my man." That made my morning, gave me hope and energy to smile my way through the line, through the ballot and onto the day.

Good luck to you today. May your lines be joyful and the weather fine.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

And words to carry us into tomorrow

For everyone who has argued, fought, called, voted, rallied.

That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

-- William Shakespeare, Henry the IV

And for tomorrow, a site to watch:
http://www.fivethirtyeight.com/

Hope in action

I have been afraid to hope for the last two years. Afraid to hope that maybe, just maybe the American people might vote for real, substantive change. After the presidential elections in 2004 I felt so deeply disillusioned by the voting and non-voting populace that I lost hope.

But now... I am finally feeling hope leak out through my pores. I am finally thinking that there might be a reason to believe in the better angels of our nature.

I don't know what will happen tomorrow. I do know that each and every one of us has the chance to have our say.

Get out and hope. Vote.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

Stepping out of context

I love traveling though I don't do so all that often. I'm not talking about work trips, where you go someplace and only see the inside of a conference facility or an office building. I'm talking about the kind of trip where you go somewhere and are reminded that the world is so big, that you are so small and that there is very little difference between you and the next person.

None of these observations are original, of course, but I am reminded of this quite forcefully after the last few days. I've been traveling a lot lately, all for work. I've seen more hotels and conference centers and tourist meccas in the last eight weeks than I would have expected. These were by-and-large good trips, fruitful and interesting. I met a lot of good people and was reminded that there is at least a variety of geography on this planet, but none of these trips gave me the opportunity to explore, to step out of my rushed working self. None of these trips were anything other than my usual self in a slightly different physical context.

Last week I actually took a vacation, a trip to Vancouver, BC. It was a really good visit, lots of mini-adventures, but the best part was this: It did what a vacation was supposed to do. By stepping out of the context of my own life (the everyday stresses, the regular routines, etc etc) I was able to get some distance and clarity on where and who I am right now. I felt as though I was coming home to myself for all that I was thousands of miles from my physical home.

It's hard to do that in my everyday context; it's too easy to be distracted by the mundane concerns. I needed to be far away, where I had to figure out new buses and money and slang, to remember who I am, to remember that the baggage I carry isn't necessarily all that weighty, to remember that I am not merely my everyday routine. I would like to think I could do this at home, but I'm not sure, I think I needed to go away to remember.

It was a good trip. And I'm glad to be home, having left some of my baggage far away.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer