Re: Write

I am a writer. It took me a while to say that, to myself, before I could proclaim it to the world. I grew up with the notion you had to BE, before you could claim to be. There was something in my mother’s teaching that made me reluctant to attest to something about myself unless someone else, officially, had acknowledged it first. Even when I became an adult and wrote for my daily newspaper, my mother continued to think; ‘a Writer is someone who writes Books.’

I have mixed feelings about the drive to be a writer as my father spent almost every spare moment during my pre-teen years clacking on his Underwood. Having gone through my own mid-life crisis I can recognize now, what was going on with my dad. He was at a crossroads and he thought sending off manuscripts, with rejection slips inevitable, just might bring him the fame he was after. My mom kicked him out of the apartment for his ‘writing obsession’ and only let him back after he promised to write no more. These were very stressful days for me. The house was suddenly very quiet after he took his typewriter and left. To this day I will feel heartache whenever I see one of these antique word processing machines. The departure scene became forever connected to WRITING. To venture into the land of career writing became filled with the prospect of following in my father’s failed footsteps. Nothing pleasing to picture with that scenario; move along please.

What a negative space I occupied; Being unable to write because it didn’t feel right. Thankfully I recognized that this attitude was largely self-imposed. As my teaching career wound down I approached our local daily newspaper with an idea for a weekly column. It felt like a rite of passage when I got hired. The Daily Press even used me as a roving reporter covering the arts scene on the weekends. I tapped away on the keyboard of a new Bondi Blue iMac (much quieter than my dad’s machine). I discovered that the more I wrote the more I wanted to write. I had tapped into an artistic side of me that had been hungering for release. I wrote editorials. I wanted to be a righter of wrongs. I kept poetry diaries and trip journals. During my last few years of teaching everyone in my classroom wrote lots of stuff. We shared the results together with delight. We played with homonyms, synonyms and antonyms. We made up nonsense words and made them into cartoon characters. Sometimes it only takes one person to read your work to make you feel accomplished.

One year, to honour the passing into the new millennium, I wrote a full page of thoughts for each day of 2000 thinking it would be a curiosity for my grandkids someday. My wife was diagnosed with stage four cancer in January 2001. For the next 288 nights she asked for a bedtime story; either Winnie the Pooh or a page from my Millennial Journal.

Re: Disruption

Most people can handle being interrupted. Perhaps you’re a shift worker trying to sleep and a neighbour starts mowing the lawn. You’re on the freeway and your progress is interrupted by some construction. Disruption, however, is another matter. It means your world is turned upside down and will never be the same. We have been faced with this disorientation for several decades as the world of politics, communication, finance, transportation and commerce appear to be working to a different beat, perhaps even a different standard.

Trump was voted in because he promised to “drain the swamp”. As a disruptive force he has few peers. In my lifetime I have no one to compare to his total disrespect for convention. His campaign slogan ‘Make America Great Again’ can be ironic in this context. Comfort can be found in old ways of doing things, even when it’s not healthy. I don’t think of myself as an old fogey, prone to complaining about the way things used to be. I can embrace change and enjoy looking towards the future with hope not trepidation. I think most people can handle change well, especially if they are invited to be part of the change process.

Change makers were once referred to as innovators. Existing technology or infrastructure was modified, not razed. A societal advancement or some new product became brighter, faster, stronger, longer lasting but not foreign to our senses. Now change can be so dramatic it startles. No human cashiers at the 24hr store, what are you talking about? A phone that can take a picture, are you nuts? A transport truck without a driver, are you kidding me? Paying to sleep in someone’s house, you’re joking right? I text for transport to the airport and my neighbour arrives, for a fee, it’s Uber easy! Yet, when the motivation behind disruption appears to be all about the money, cynicism grows while the potential enthusiasm for something new diminishes.

Disruption is like exponential change, like having a baby, like a forest fire that clears acreage making way for fresh growth. Disruption can be beneficial. It can be revolutionary! Yet too much fire can seem apocalyptic, immobilizing and devastating. With manufactured change, those born before this new millennium knew another way, so some of us may feel out of touch.

Power comes from feeling part of the revolution. Hope is knowing in our hearts and minds that things will work out eventually. Humour allows us to all catch a breath from the stress of it all. Poetry has always been a people’s choice and voice when times get messy. I like to be silly with my poems so I’m going to be disruptive and suggest a whole new literary genre: Non-Fiction Poetry. In our present push to challenge existing structures, we must not lose sight of facts. So my poems will be purely factual; not opinions, neither musings nor reflections. Joe Friday used to say: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4LPkmGO5Cc

Here’s my first, titled, “100%”.

A slice of pie
Is 100%
Pie.