Why do things like this happen? This 1972 song by the late Joe Dassin was playing on the radio when I was driving him to the airport yesterday morning…
Et l’on sait trop bien que tôt ou tard
Demain peut-être ou même ce soir
On va se dire que tout n’est pas perdu
De ce roman inachevé, on va se faire un conte de fées
Mais on a passé l’âge, on n’y croirait plus
On va descendre ensemble si tu veux
Et quand elle va nous voir passer
La patronne du café
Va encore nous dire “Salut les amoureux”
And we well know that sooner or later
Tomorrow perhaps or even tonight
We’ll tell each other that all’s not lost
Of this unfinished novel, we’ll make for ourselves a fairy tale
But we’ve passed that age, we wouldn’t believe it.
We’re going to go down together if you want
And when she’ll see us go by
The café owner
will again say to us, “Hi there, love birds”
Given I started this blog in late 2002, it’s probably not too far-fetched, considering how things moves fast on the Web, to start this entry with a long, long time ago…
A long, long time ago,I started this blog after considerable hesitation. I worried about many things, not least of which wondering if I had anything really worth putting “out there” for anyone and everyone to read. But further up my list of concerns was hearing about and reading for myself blogs that put so much out there that their writers were exposing themselves and making themselves vulnerable in so many ways, including personally and professionally. Today, with social networking sites like Facebook, it seems like many people, confident with these sites’ privacy settings, have set aside such concerns. However, I remember well, small business owner as I was back then, feeling the need to suppress so much at the risk of disclosing stuff that would cause much malaise between my clients and me.
Today, as I mark my 44th birthday, these concerns have arisen again but for entirely different reasons. I will certainly write again, but here? I’m not so sure. It wouldn’t be fair if, at the same time, I wish to remain wide-opened and candid. Moreover, I think my motives for writing would be suspect. And quickly old and boring.
Right now, I can’t help recalling again, as I did in my very first blog entry, the closing paragraph of Margaret Laurence’s A Jest of God:
Where I’m going, anything may happen. Nothing may happen… I will be light and straight as any feather. The wind will bear me and I will drift and settle, and drift and settle. . . . God’s mercy on reluctant jesters. God’s grace on fools. God’s pity on God.