Dearest Rachel –
When I first set this website up, and decided to write you daily letters, I found myself having to think long and hard about nearly every word that I wrote down. In fact, the first few letters were almost completely written out in longhand on paper before I ever committed anything to the computer, and were read multiple times over before I felt ready to click the ‘Publish’ button to upload it for public consumption. I think I was just afraid of how many people would read “over your shoulder,” and what they might say about the things I was telling you. I’m all too familiar with the comment section of so many forms of internet media, and didn’t relish dealing with that, in terms of relating those first few days without you to you.
Somewhere along the way, however, my attitude toward what I had to say to you changed completely. I think I decided that, if I were actually just talking to you, I wouldn’t dwell too hard on what I was saying; a back-and-forth conversation between us would just flow naturally, without these long pauses to analyze every word before saying it. That, and the realization that, whatever readership I have is willing to let me have (and while I hate this phrase, it fits here) “my truth” about the things that I was dealing with in my daily life, whether that was something going on around me, or inside my head. I came to the realization that I could say anything I wanted to – as long as it wasn’t too explicit, or too condemnatory about somebody in particular.
Besides, since I was now suddenly under a compulsion to continue writing to you on a daily basis like this, I couldn’t let myself be bothered too much with the concept of ‘quality.’ Some days just didn’t have much interesting to tell you about – just like some days in our real life didn’t, but we still talked to each other. And since there has been a lot going on, in other days, and the process of writing, editing, rewriting proofreading, and the like takes forever, I had to limit the time spent going over every single word I told you. I can only imagine how much grammar and spelling you would get after me about, if you were here to read these. But those are the corners I’ve been cutting in order to get something out on a regular basis, usually before I start my day.
The other day, however, for reasons not even known to myself, I got it into my head to take something that I had already written on the computer, and commit it to paper. Essentially, I was coming full circle from the beginning; now, I was doing the exact opposite of what I had done at the start of this journey. I even went out and got myself some calligraphic brush pens – my old pens from my junior high and high schools days having long since fallen to tarnish and rust (and most of the ink was thrown out in the purge, in any event).
I will say, these things are very different from what I’m used to; while I should’ve known from their description, brushes are not the same thing as metal nibs. Additionally, under certain light, what they call ‘autumn red’ looks like an rather offputting shade of brown, but that was the color of ink they offered, so I guess I’ll have to live with it.
As with my current writing, I tried not to concern myself overmuch with making sure that every letter was consistent from one iteration to another; as long as it was legible, it would serve its purpose. I may not have the most artistic penmanship out there, but it has a certain ‘character’ to it that I would like to think still makes it interesting (while not too challenging) to read.
But the most surprising thing about the experience was how, as I went along transcribing my work, how I found myself dissatisfied with what it was I’d already written down. I found myself changing it as I put pen to paper, and going back to the original document in turn, and reworking it as well. Usually, it was little more than a word or two here and there, but some times, I was moving whole paragraphs within what I’d already put together. To be sure, this was something I was already a bit less than happy with, but it shocked me as to how, now that I was making a permanent physical record of something that, until now, was little more than pixels on a screen (and yes, I know that “the internet is forever,” but it’s rather like the proverbial sound of a tree falling in an uninhabited forest at this point), there was this constant nagging need to change everything as I was going along.
Moreover, as I placed the first finished page in an envelope for safekeeping, I felt this strange sensation, like butterflies in my stomach. There was no need for this feeling – it wasn’t as if I was submitting a manuscript for publication or anything – but it was there regardless. Somehow it hearkened back to those find few days, when I was so self-conscious, even amid my fresh, intense grief, and so I felt the need to tell you (and, I guess, everyone else that still reads over your shoulder) about this experience.
You know, there comes a time when you think that you’ve gotten used to the process of whatever it is you’re doing, but then something happens that changes things up a little, and you realize that you never do quite ‘get used to it,’ any more than you get used to that enduring sense of absence in your life. All you can do is try to keep going, and hope that, by ignoring the sensation, it will… well, not go away, because that never happens… but just… not call attention to itself so much, and allow you to do what you feel the need to.
To that end, honey, I have to keep asking you to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 