Connection, Disconnection

“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”
—    Anais Nin

Well, hell. I guess it's time to write a post.

There's 6,226 miles between where I am right now and where we spent the bulk of last week planning to go next summer. There's about 5 years of time until I go to college, which is what I spent the bulk of last week preparing for--or not so much college as what I'll need to do in high school in order to get there.

5 years. 6,000 miles. That's a lot of space, and I'm swimming in it--treading waters somewhere between a time not so far on the horizon, when I will share an amazing experience with my mom and my sister and meet one of my favorite people on earth, and the living room of my own home, where puppies bark at the slightest noises and teenagers beg mothers for money (homeless people living in the mother's house), their music a different kind than what will accompany us in Brazil.

The last two weeks were an experience. I don't know what I expected when I had an unannounced semi-twitter hiatus, tweeting maybe a few times a week, though I had my intentions written out in my mind; things like "find my voice" and "remove my creative block". But I do know that I didn't expect to be so stirred by this week and the people online who I cared about more than enough to talk to even when I was busy.

I've tried to put my finger on what it was exactly that's left me in this "Wow" haze. I mean, I woke up last week and put Abby's leash on and walked. For an hour. To the beach and up and down its sands, listening to music, honoring this spot of peaceful thought in my head.

Of all the memorable elements and ending thoughts of being isolated from your friends by choice--boredom, confusion, forced problem solving, missing them like crazy--I keep coming back to connection. I want to be disconnected so that I can realize how essential being connected is... and how equally essential disconnection is.

Last weekend, I felt very "ugh, internet" and Kate did too. So we went outside and rode bikes and made up games and talked about our futures and how scared, confident, excited about them we were, as best friends needfully talk those things out.

Last weekend, Rafa kiked me and expressed her dislike that I wasn't talking to her (or anyone) very much anymore. And I realized that I was still way too busy to just sit down and chill with Mia and Rafa and Sofia on kik. So guess what I did? I sat down and chilled with Mia and Rafa and Sofia on kik.

Detached from social networks, missing my friends that I connect with there, reveling in hanging out with the ones I connect with face-to-face. Reuniting at necessary times with the online ones. That felt really good. Assuring, forgiving, uplifting, honest, relatable, insightful, hopeful--all of the things I want my writing to be.

Connection is where writing begins. Maybe not writing, but story-telling.  Anyone can write—study great sentence structure, learn about perspective and tense and details, say something interesting—but story-telling begins with connection and telling one's truth. If we can do that in our writing—connect to a person, an experience, an emotion, a new perspective— we possess the ability to affect someone else's story. Writing connects people, online and offline.

All of my friends and I shared stories last week.
Words and music.
Pain and mundane.
Sorrow and celebration.
All of it was important.

I could be going to Chile and Brazil very soon. Meeting people, bringing online and offline together. And I think that's a very good note to end on.