There is a question whether faith can or is supposed to be emotionally satisfying. I must say that the thought of everyone lolling about in an emotionally satisfying faith is repugnant to me. I believe that we are ultimately directed Godward but that this journey is often impeded by emotion. I don't think you are a jellyfish. But I suspect you of being a Romantic. Which is not such an opprobrious thing as being a fascist. I do hope you will reconsider and relieve me of the burden of being a fascist. The only force I believe in is prayer, and it is a force I apply with more doggedness than attention (pg. 100).
I've been slowly making my way through her numerous letters. She penned hundreds between 1948 and 1964, when she died too young from complications related to Lupus. The book is called The Habit of Being and within it are the humorous, brave, extraordinary and intimate insights of the very talented and witty Miss Flannery O'Connor. I am awestruck by the sheer volume of them and the thoughtfulness that went into each. I am wishing, now, that I could sit with her awhile.
I can't remember when I last constructed a letter. Staccato e-mails have replaced the girly stationary and detailed correspondence about every day events I used to send and long to receive from my high school and then college friends, because I'm old enough to have made it through four years of higher education without help from the Internet. Cursive writing, with actual ink on notebook paper, has become painful and awkward. My penmanship, which I used to agonize over, is now sloppy and illegible. I communicate by typing, using facts - who, what, where, when -instead of offering a piece of myself by way of hand scrawled stories and spit sealed notes addressed from me to the recipients on my mind and in my heart. We hit "delete" and there is nothing left to treasure or hold on to.
I am thinking that I'm not yet ready to throw in the towel, to surrender to this frightening epidemic reducing the beauty and complexity of language to cryptic abbreviations in the form of text messages on cell phones. I am suddenly quite desperate for lengthy paragraphs, complete sentences, floral envelopes and a roll of stamps. It's not my personality, really, to rock the boat, make a fuss, protest, but in this case...I'm too scared not to - for the sake of my children and their future, potentially void of truly meaningful interactions, of literary and historical keepsakes. This week, one letter - I dare you.
I can't remember when I last constructed a letter. Staccato e-mails have replaced the girly stationary and detailed correspondence about every day events I used to send and long to receive from my high school and then college friends, because I'm old enough to have made it through four years of higher education without help from the Internet. Cursive writing, with actual ink on notebook paper, has become painful and awkward. My penmanship, which I used to agonize over, is now sloppy and illegible. I communicate by typing, using facts - who, what, where, when -instead of offering a piece of myself by way of hand scrawled stories and spit sealed notes addressed from me to the recipients on my mind and in my heart. We hit "delete" and there is nothing left to treasure or hold on to.
I am thinking that I'm not yet ready to throw in the towel, to surrender to this frightening epidemic reducing the beauty and complexity of language to cryptic abbreviations in the form of text messages on cell phones. I am suddenly quite desperate for lengthy paragraphs, complete sentences, floral envelopes and a roll of stamps. It's not my personality, really, to rock the boat, make a fuss, protest, but in this case...I'm too scared not to - for the sake of my children and their future, potentially void of truly meaningful interactions, of literary and historical keepsakes. This week, one letter - I dare you.
9 comments:
And we will take up the challenge! We do love Flannery O'Connor. She hits all the right spots.
I have been trying to revive my spirit of writing real letters. It took me until 1998 to be connected with permanent email. I miss sitting down every week to write letters. When I was studying in Chicago I would write religiously to my friends scattered around the country. It was very good for my spirit.
Wow. I am a regular reader of your blogs and I continue to be amazed at how often the thoughts you share in your blog mirror mine. I wish I had the opportunity to meet you in person, as I feel I would love to have you as a friend. About a week ago, I sent out an email to all in my email list that I was going on an "email hiatus," for an indefinite amount of time... a few weeks, a few months, or possibly forever. I also asked that they not forward any emails to me and that if they did choose to write to me not to take it personally that I would not be writing back. I feel that email has disrupted the sense of peace I feel I had more of pre-computer days taken up too much of my life... with guilt over not getting back to people, and the impersonal nature I feel behind it. I have made a vow to myself that at least once a week I would make a phone call or write a letter to someone instead of email. I have also made a commitment to limit internet usage for much of the same reasons. Since then, I've been amazed at how much cleaner my house and my peace of mind have become. One of the few things I can't seem to let go of is reading your blogs :-) I guess this does, in a way, break my vow, as this note is similar to email, but I was amazed at the timing of your post and couldn't resist :-)
Stephanie
P.S. If you send me your address, I'll write you a letter :-)
Okay, I need your address :) and I will send you mine in my letter...could be fun!
We work with the children in letter writing as part of their curriculum. Especially now that we are away and most likely won't be back to Western NY in the near future.
Once again, your writing, er typed thoughts, hit "close to Home" :)
I must read more Flannery O'Connor...
Thank you for your thoughts. I'm struggling right now with the balance between keepsakes, scrapbooks, leaving a legacy filled with mementos for the kids, etc. I can't scrapbook to save my life and have started journals and babybooks for the kids without consistency that I thought maybe blogging would be the way to remember these days and help family keep in touch. But now I find myself looking at other blogs more and wanting to make sure my entries are easily understood by strangers or compelling enough to keep their interest. How do you and others reconcile this? I know I stray from email vs letters, but the blog entry vs a handheld album seems to be a valid comparison... Alas, I'm asking questions to strangers... :)
Molly, thanks for that blast of Flannery. She's been my hero for 25 years.
I'm with many of you realizing how absurdly much time I diddle away at the computer (just check out what time it is as I write this). I think I'm closing in on a total detox, a hiatus. Good thing Advent is upon us. I love a good preparatory/purgative church season.
How much joy I used to take in writing letters! I wrote on yellow legal pads, pages and pages to my poor unsuspecting paper interlocutors. I miss it; I miss getting letters back. I have already planned this week to write a little letter to my niece. She's nine, she needs some support right about now, something she can pick up and re-read and just have. But of course, every evening instead of writing her I sit here and loll around, scouring political blogs, going glazed-eyed scanning retail clothing sites, throwing off quick emails to just deal with little nattering things....What I'm doing I have no idea. Writing letters never leaves you with this feeling: What did I just do for the past three hours anyway...?
The thing about the internet is, it is an endless depth of distraction, as Sandy above suggests. It is hard even to do one's own blog without wandering away and looking at everyone else's. The internet is a window to all that there is in the world, the whole wide world. Sort of the opposite of writing a letter: a very limited activity, defined and confined spatially, materially, mentally. What I'm losing is that ability to limit what I'm doing, limit what is drawing my attention. But limits force focus, and focus is what is required of us as we follow, or attempt to follow, our Lord.
A lot of wandering here.....what can I say. I just can't seem to stay focused....
Molly, when I mail that letter, I'll let you know. I want to hear when others do too.
Did you mail the letter, Julie? I got one out last week but need to send another one soon. It feels so nice to seal them up and drop them off at the post office!
Sandy,
I, too, was (am) a horrible scrapbooker, baby book filler outer, etc.!! Since my Close to Home blog I reserve for AFR podcasts, I created this one for more personal reflections and as a way to document those moments I would certainly forget later on. Some posts I know may not make sense to others outside my family, others I try to make more universal. I appreciate the camaraderie of those who comment and find the writing keeps my mind sharp. It being on-line, however, I am always aware of the permanence of my words and the fact that literally anyone in the world could have access to them. Blogging is a wonderful outlet for mothers provided it brings them joy instead of one more thing to stress about! ;) I have heard there is a way to actually make a sort of photo/memory album out of your blog posts - I'll let you know if I figure that out. I don't know if this answers any of your questions, Sandy, but for what its worth, I think your blog and children our precious!
Just tuning into this blog tonight, so I'll have to play catchup on the letter.
But thanks for getting Krauss/Plant stuck in my head. :) That song is so pretty.
I wrote two letters to my niece and nephew. Boy was it fun.
And I even mailed them.
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