Message in a bottle: My first month as a blogger
To me it is a far flung place with an inordinate amount of snow, fur hats and serious looking people with brows knit in deep contemplation of aforementioned snow.
It could not be more far flung from my life of squelching mangoes, watermelon sunsets and sunscreen-soaked swimming.
But last week someone from Romania read my post on ‘Fear’.
They instantly manifested in my imagination.
I could see them recumbent, sipping on a potato based liquor, back lit by the dying embers of a well-tended fire and pondering my inner most thoughts.
Somehow, my words had needled into a Romanian’s spare twenty minutes.
It was then that I knew that I was hooked.
Hooked on blogging.
What I have always known however, even before the Romanian read my post, is that I wanted to blog. I wanted to blog before I knew what blogging was. Before blogging was invented.
Hell, I wanted to blog before the internet was invented.
You know how I know this?
I used to put notes in bottles.
We used to take a lot of beach holidays. It’s an Aussie thing. Just wanted to explain in case you’re the Romanian.
With so many humid adolescent days rolled out ahead of me, I would always take my own little ‘imagination’ holiday inside the mini-golf, marco-polo and rock-climbing activities of the real one.
I would find a shady spot at the table outside our orange tent and labour over long pondering inquisitive notes to strangers in exotic lands.
I’d seal them with a kiss. Always. And then set them off to sea, watching their barnacled voyage of sweet smelling youth bounce off into the horizon.
I always imagined the recipient. Just as I imagined the Romanian. Except, my recipient was on a beach too.
I imagined them popping the perfectly water-tight seal and sinking into the sand with dreamy adoration for me and my witty entreaty to connect with them.
They laughed at my jokes. They ‘got’ me.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t a reply button on the end of my note. But guess what?
There is now.
There is also blogging.
And there’s a fancy thing called the Internet.
And the internet is just one big reply button. People leave notes in bottles all over the internet. Every second. Every nano-second. Every whatever is shorter than a nano-second.
I think that this is what is so addictive to me.
I’ve finally found my romantic equivalent on the other side of the ocean.
They’re people like me.
They inhale, imbibe and drink their stomachs full of words.
They feel the same dreamy midnight-blue pull of notes in bottles and dark oceans of possibility. They’re my people.
They’re my tribe.
I understand that tribe is an over-used word. Especially on the inter-ma-net.
But it’s used because it’s completely apt.
Please let me use it. I’m stamped with it. It’s on me.
And that’s when you belong to a tribe, it’s when it’s on you. When you carry it’s markings with you like an engraved tattoo of initiation and deep primal pride.
The ‘collective’ makes our sticky threads of thought a web. A world wide web. It’s what makes this dewy galactic delicacy ‘hold’ in the gentle breeze.
I’m perturbed when people become flustered about the internet and about blogging and ‘how we’ve changed’; how we’ve lost the ‘ability to communicate’.
Because we haven’t.
Actually, this blogging thing feels ancient to me. It feels like a cave painting of connection.
My favourite line from one of my most adored films, ‘Before Sunrise’, is when Julie Delpy’s character, who is slowly and exquisitely falling in love with Ethan Hawke’s character, says to him…
“I believe if there’s any kind of God it wouldn’t be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between.”
It’s the ‘space in between’ that humans have always wanted to fill with beauty, prose, art, dance, music, words.
It’s a caveman’s drawings, it’s Michelangelo’s David, it’s notes in a bottle, it’s even this post about blogging.
Ok so it’s not marble or the ochre tones of mineral musings on cave walls but it hangs in the air with a singular desire to fill the space in between.
The space is filled instantly just by pressing publish, read and reply.
Space. Between. Filled.
So where are you right now while reading this?
Do you feel this ancient need to communicate, to connect, to leave your own cave painting on humanity’s earthen walls?
Perhaps you’re in Romania reclining with a vodka shot gazing at the icy blue tones of a snowy horizon.
Hi there. Nice to meet you.
Thanks for picking up my note in a bottle.
I knew someone would.