So I am enjoying my last bath of the foreseeable future (our new place only has a shower) while reading Moral Disorder by Margaret Atwood. I stole this book from my parents random collection of books (sorry, mom and dad) before I left their place. The main character, Nell, seems to have gone from a vibrant child to an older woman narrating the stories of other people in a detached way with only the odd vague reference to her own wants. Now she is at her parent’s house and her father has just had a second stroke. At this stage characters in the book are dropping like flies and I suspect Nell’s dad is about to go too.
Now, I have to put the book down. A thought is tugging at my brain. It strikes me that there is a difference between survival and living. Survival is something you do so you can live, but survival and living do not always go hand in hand. I think some people exist and then stop existing without really living. Maybe they are afraid it will affect their survival. I am afraid of surviving without living. I think that’s why I make decisions that other people consider to be irresponsible. I am willing to risk certain things, normal things, to have a more fulfilling life for myself. I want to leave a mark. I want to mean something. I think that’s why I made photojournalism my career choice and that’s why I started writing this blog. Every word I say is true, as I see it. This is me, in bytes and binary code and I am putting it out there. Maybe it will mean something to someone, maybe it won’t, but at least I am trying, at least it’s there in the universe.
Margaret Atwood is great for making me think about things I normally keep firmly lodged in the back of my mind, corporations controlling government, growing meat, defining your role in life (or having it defined for you.)
That will be the last bath revelation for at least six months. I’m not sure shower revelations, if they exist, are as fundamental. More like, “Must remember to pick up milk today.”