A Requiem for Really, Life?’s Name

VIRB Picture

Photography by Keith Britton

Dearly Beloved, we are here today to bury the original name of my blog.

Really, Life?, dust you never were, but dust you must now be. You were a good ole name, steadfast, but unfortunately not true to my musings. I needed a name which captures more clearly what the blog is about–comments about my travels with an occasional “detour” to other topics.

Please understand, Really, Life?, that you did nothing wrong. I chose you; you didn’t choose me. Now I am your executioner, and I take full responsibility for your death. As a former composition teacher, I understand the importance of brainstorming, of writing and re-writing until you get “it” right.  In this case, “it” wasn’t just the words I needed to get right; “it” was also the concept. I found myself writing far more about the serendipity found in my travels rather than about the serendipity and foibles of Life. Once I understood this truth, your demise was inevitable.

Do not despair, Really, Life?, for there is hope as seen in Henry Wadswoth Longfellow’s “A Psalm of Life“:  “Life is real! (That’s you!)  / Life is earnest! /  And the grave is not its goal; /  Dust thou art, to dust returnest, /  Was not spoken of the soul.” While it is true that your name is buried forever, the writing itself, your soul, is resurrected and represented by the new name, Flying  to Adventure–with Detours.

Rest in peace, Really, Life?, for I embrace your reincarnation. Take solace knowing your soul and I now begin our journey together forever and ever. Amen.



First blog post

Really? Really, Life?

Life, are you really motivating me to write a blog to comment on your idiosyncrasies, foibles, and serendipity?  Understanding you at times is like placing a piece into a jigsaw puzzle:  the piece looks right, but it’s not the correct fit.  Other times understanding you is like confidently running down stairs, inexplicably missing the final step, and sprawling skinned and bruised on the pavement. Understanding you can also be like expecting a blind date to be Brad Pitt and finding Ramsey Bolton at the front door instead.  Brad may melt a heart, but Ramsey much prefers to pierce a heart–literally–into pieces. Then when I am at the pinnacle of my confusion, running in a dark forest, tripping on roots, and failing to find the correct trail to escape your bogeyman,  I stumble upon a clearing.  Overhead, a brilliant shaft of sunlight points to the path of safety.

Really, Life?  Really!