Apologetic ramblings for posterity
The future. Posterity.
The consideration for how others will regard us in the tomorrows of tomorrow. Leaving our mark, a legacy, a family, anything behind to say we were here. Everyone experiences this; it is part of the human condition. Short term, long term it doesn’t matter. From graffiti punks to Presidents we all want to leave something behind. It is a profound statement of our mortality and short existence. A yearning to live past our years. The motivations behind what we do, how much of an impact we have differs by person depending on experience and their station in life. But its importance cannot be overlooked.
There are times when personally, writing is wrapped up in this whole idea of the something to live beyond ourselves. Times when I was writing more for future generations, my children, or grandchildren than for any current readers or myself. Somehow, I tell myself the lack of readers now is fine so long as there is the hope that someday someone will read what I have written. That on some level someone will remember what I have to say. That desire to be heard by the future is so strong at times; I don’t even care about the message. At times, it shows in my writing.
I ponder how this affects people differently. There are those whom I’m sure don’t even realize it is a factor in their lives. It is transparent to them and remains a subconscious motivation. Then I wonder about all the people who only have their ability to reproduce, to have children as a means to immortality. How much does that eat away at their relationships with their children when they don’t live up to their expectations? When these creations don’t reflect the image their parents wish to leave behind.
Presidents are automatically memorialized in history books the moment they are inaugurated. So long as this young nation continues, their names will be remembered. Schoolchildren will be forever compelled to memorize their name along with the likes of Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln. As if all the parts of that position weren’t full of enough things to think about and contemplate, they also have to consider how they will be remembered. How will they leave their mark? By name alone, or will they do something during their watch? Or will they forever be the one who died within days of being inaugurated, or the one who was impeached, or the one forever linked with cigars and interns in the Oval Office?
And if all the books are burned and the cities crumble, when the next civilization builds upon our ashes what does it matter if none of us are remembered? Should that quest for posterity and immortality truly have such an important mantle in our lives? Are there other things more important than this?
Surely. There must be.
If that is so, then why write, why have a child? If we remove the vanity inherit in leaving our mark behind, then what is left of these parts of my life? Having children gives balance to my life. It requires that I grow, that I hold something, someone in greater regard than myself. It forces me to take care of a being that needs me to grow and mature. A chance to watch as this baby becomes a person and learns to make their own choices and live the life they want.
As far as my writing, if you strip away the ego of posterity, I do it because I love to create. Writing is more of a way to organize the images in my mind. Providing a framework for the insanity writing gives a creative form to what is already in my mind. I can’t paint, or make movies. But I do like words and I have an affinity for language, so I bring my visions into being by writing. If I didn’t write, I would just spend that same time daydreaming, and imagining. Letting the movies inside my mind overwhelm my life is no way to live, so I write.
Since writing doesn’t come naturally to me, I have to work at making it match what I see in my mind. Everyday I work at being a better writer so I can do my dreams justice. I think understanding this helps. It eases the guilt I feel for not bring as good a writer as I would like. So when you read something I’ve written and it seems to either have mistakes or not quite make its point, be assured I already know this. I’m working, always working at being better. And so I can never be one of those self-important writers who are so sure of his or her literary merit as to be a scholarly snob. I guess this is a way of saying; I’m trying to do better as a father and as a writer.
Thank you for your attention and your time.
