One wonderful facet of blogging is reading about someone else’s life and thoughts, then allowing what I read to affect me, change me, prod me.
I had a brief e-conversation with the creator of the blog Rendezvous with Renee recently about a quote I borrowed from one of her pieces. In our exchange, she referred me to another of her posts. I have provided the link to it below.
The title of it got me thinking about my own similar fear. I figure I have about 20 productive years, at most, ahead of me. Twenty years are nothing. The time goes in a flash. Don’t believe me? Look at that child of yours nearing college age or finishing college. The span of their lifetime is a blur. It’s gone by so fast.
Anyway, I started thinking about my writing ambition. I have had it my whole life. Over the course of years, I kept saying about writing professionally, “Not yet, not yet. I haven’t lived enough. I don’t have anything to say.”
Then that thought changed. Now I fret that I won’t have time to get the words out of me. I fret that life will get in the way, and my stories won’t get told.
Yes, I fear I’ll be forgotten.
Oh, I know that I’ll be remembered by friends, family and children who outlive me. But when they are gone, then what? Poof. I’m gone for good. Especially in an age of digital data. There will be no paintings of me that pass from generation to generation, hung in the family library or den. Photographs of me saved on-line or in home computers will disappear. My e-books-to-be will corrupt in an outdated e-reader.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, twinkle in my father’s eye to twinkle in the starry sky. But who will be looking for the miniscule twinkle? Who will care?
At some level, it is the fear of being forgotten that motivates me to write.