narcissism and so much depending on a moment lacking solitude

I'm studying William Carlos Williams right now. You probably read his "The Red Wheelbarrow" in high school.

So much depends upon
a red wheelbarrow
glazed with rain water
beside the white chickens.

The way he bestows dignity on the ordinary has made him my favorite poet of the early twentieth century, if not my favorite poet overall. He was a physician and poet, often writing his poems in the car on his way from one house call to another, weary from a flu epidemics and measles outbreaks. Early in his career, he longed "to get away" from the urgency of every day life so that he could concentrate on his poetry. Somewhere along the way, however, he realized that his poetry could be written - in fact, must be written - within the clamoring and stress of his hectic life.

Perhaps this is why I have not been blogging lately. I have several half-written posts, yet, as I have sat here at my desk and have written at the end of the day, the ideas typed on the screen seemed to be of little importance - hardly relevant to myself, let alone someone else. What was vibrant in my mind during a car ride or a conversation or a church service hours earlier fell limp as I tried to convey an emotion or thought in quiet solitude.

So, as I type in the silence of the end of the day, I do not know how to share my insights or thoughtful meanderings in a way that will interest any of you. I've always felt slightly narcissistic in my blog writing as I've assumed that people are interested in reading about me. Yet, I'm interested in reading about others, so I assume it all eventually works out for everybody's good. So, everyone, things are going well. I've loved my time here in Denver, and yet I look forward to returning to the sticky Midwest again soon. Thanks for putting up with my narcissism; I look forward to putting up with yours in return.