Ink, Paper, Wax : A Tale of Taking Back Time
Last week I called a friend who lives on the opposite coast of me. Each time we talk we always wonder why don’t chat more often. We are both mothers of toddlers and texting always gets put on the back burner.
It got me thinking about how talking on the phone has been dubbed “inconvenient”, as if all we time for in our relationships is to send fragmented thoughts and get back spliced up responses, all the while we are in the middle of seven other tasks. I think maybe the reason I text so little is because I often get so little from it. Emoji’s can’t replace hearing a persons authentic laugh or the brokenness in their voice. You can’t hear the kids giggles or the beckoning for a mama’s attention in the background of a text, you only see the dot dot dot of a message started but never finished. .
So when I find a pocket of time, I call. Our conversations are always such a blessing to me. We talk about creative passions and endeavors and motherhood and being present and family legacy and living out our principles. We listen to each other and offer encouragement and praise. And best of all, we DREAM—and when the conversations get lost amongst the stars, we both seem to come away with a treasure chest full of twinkling ideas just ready to burst.
This past week, we talked about social media and how even the good parts of it can feel like a hinderance to what we want. How you can become overstimulated by inspiration. Paralyzed by where to even begin or how in the world you could ever do all the things you want to do. And within the next hour you are faced with more. More creative projects, more ways to decorate your home, more ways to mother better, more ways to dress cute, more stuff to buy. MORE. MORE. MORE.
And all the while, aren’t we talking about seeking less. We want a life less hurried and more intentional, but if all we ever feel is that there isn’t enough time to live such an “inspired” life, then maybe we need to take a closer look at what we really want out of our days.
“The truth is that we have the same amount of time as did our ancestors and our grandparents. The difference is in how we choose to spend it.” - The Lady Farmer Guide to Slow Living
In every slow practice I go about pursuing, I often think on the days of old where there were fewer distractions and conveniences. And furthermore, I often wonder if women didn’t feel such a “need” to share their lives; what they wore, what they made, what they cooked, what their children did, etc, because they lived in a more true version of community. They received their praises and comfort in the moments around family, neighbors, and friends.
I’ve been deeply convicted by how much TIME I end up using to document my joys, with a longing to share and a gratitude for the kind remarks. I take out my phone to snap a picture. One moment = 36 frames, 36 frames to inspect for personal favorites and the most “shareable” ones. Then editing + captioning—is it not absurd how long it can take to write a well thought out caption? Trying to wrap up a moment or a feeling in just a few words with one image—in the hopes that others will see your best times and experience alongside you what it is that gives you purpose. Or maybe even the opposite, a picture that captures the beauty while you spill your heart for the difficult parts of motherhood, the lonely, isolated, exhausting times where we wish there was someone there to lean on. And once posted, what then? Surely we want to see and feel the support of our “community”. We want to read their cheers and condolences. We want to take in the encouragement and express our gratitude for their kindness. Of course we do, otherwise why would we share?
And when we are hours deep into the time spent seeking our gratification, we are in turn, hours deep into lost time for nurturing our own hearts at home. A device in hand; instead of a book, instead of knitting needs, instead of pen, instead of wooden spoon, instead of a garden trowel, instead of, instead of, instead of…
And it seems to me (based very much on my own experience) that even when we do seek out these moments of self nurturing, if we find ourselves in a pretty pocket of light with a pretty mug and a favorite drink and a good book, our thoughts turn from the intended purpose, to wanting to photograph this life giving opportunity and of course share it. Because the moment was too perfect to keep to ourselves.
Except, where did the time go? A quick snap. "Oh wait, I want to try this angle. A couple more just in case. I should look and see if I like the way they came out. Maybe I’ll just slap a filter on real quick. Hmm, I actually have time, I could share this to my stories before the routine of my day kicks back in. Now what to say about it…”
Our minds and hearts drift from the quiet solitude of an intentional moment back to the world behind the screen. I wonder how many times we never got to finish the hot cup of coffee or even read from pages of our still life images. But it sure was pretty, right?
And then I wonder, is it enough to have an experience, to feel a deep sense of gratitude for a time, to fill the proverbial cup and walk forth in all that has been? Or has an inherent need for the ephemeral shared experience, a like heartedness, a kinship of seeking souls, become more important than the respite itself? Can we sit within an experience and not reach for our phones?
I’ve lived this, befuddled looks from my husband and all. It is laughable in a way, because it looks and sounds silly. But we are not all silly creatures, we are seekers of something that is missing from our lives. There is a longing so deeply rooted in our hearts for true community, sharing in our beautiful, simple, everyday joys and trials. But somewhere along the industrial and technological line, community changed and eventually it was almost all together lost. I believe it’s still there, in some neighborhoods more than others. But for many of us, we live a drive away from our nearest friends. We text more than we talk, or worse yet, we keep up with our best friends on Instagram. Off the screen, there is a beautiful life so full and so rich, and besides our small children (who see it better than we may think), we have no one to share it with.
Where we perpetuate this impasse, is in thinking that we cannot have our communal experience outside of our curated online world (honest captions and all). Lest we stay safely behind our screens, community will not come back to life unless we make it so.
Last year I made up my mind to show my gratitude for the community of women I’ve come to cherish across this online space. There were some I have wished to have as neighbors, so I began to write. Sometimes on beautiful handmade paper, and sometimes on whatever paper was nearest to me when a the heart had words to share. But in this practice I found that each person I’d write, brought out new words, words inspired by what I knew of them, and responses to their letters back to me. Words that were not meant for a general public, but just for the one. An intimacy that is surely lost in sharing to the inter-webs. I’ve mailed away some of my most inspired thoughts, but rather than “loosing” them, I felt that they were set free with new ideas to return.
It’s a slow practice that nurtures my need for connection. Time well spent; ink and paper, a pretty stamp, a dried stem, and a wax seal. And unlike looking at my phone, I’m happy to have my girls catch a glimpse of me writing letters, and all the better when they ask join alongside me.
I’ve made a habit of having extra pages on hand for my budding scribblers, wherein they most commonly compose stories of kitties (with little illustrations to boot) and just like mama’s, we seal it with wax, stick on a stamp, and send it by way of post. Should anyone want one of these little masterpieces, just say the word—we have many to share. I assure you they will bring a smile.
And my favorite part of all, pretending that mail is the only way to share our beloved stories. I often don’t text, but instead I scribble notes and deem myself unable to tell the recipient of the letters coming—how could I, except by mail? (It does wonder’s for my childlike spirit to pretend a little here and there). And truth be told, isn’t it just the happiest feeling when the mailbox holds a surprise treasure.
Once more, I come back to this quote. “The truth is that we have the same amount of time as did our ancestors and our grandparents. The difference is in how we choose to spend it.”
We live in a generation that takes great pride in finding all kinds of ways to “save time”, allowing us to do more and more and more.
On the contrary, I’ve been looking for more ways to take my time, learning from the past, the fundamental value of less.