This has been a cataclysmic weekend in the life of Jules. It began with a 13-hour roadtrip to Brooklyn New York with BFF #2 and continued with the birth of a new niece, an encounter with an ex-boyfriend, and a whole host of new experiences: images from which continuously cloud my mind.
One of the new experiences was visiting Strand, a four-story bookstore just a block from Union Square. It was mesmerizing. Everywhere you look you’re surrounded by books, books, books. Used books on the sidewalk outside. New and used books on shelves feet above my head inside. A children’s section of books I could have scrounged for days. At one point I think I said, “this is legitimately heaven.”
Within the first 20 minutes of perusing the used book sidewalk sale, I picked up an older-looking book with an interesting title. The first few pages fascinated me, so since it was cheap I bought it. Later on the subway home I discovered that I won’t be recommending it to anyone anytime soon, but I did find a quote worth sharing. The main character is describing his deadbeat dad who has only ever written one letter:
“I have a theory that at heart people who are too lazy to write, who always grab for a phone, really don’t care.” – John Nichols, A Ghost in the Music
It’s a common sentiment, that we should write to our loved ones instead of always calling. But seeing as communication has changed since this book was written in 1979, it could also be said that “people who are too lazy to call, who always reach for a phone to text, really don’t care.”
Perhaps. But my brain actually took this statement and ran in a completely different direction. I took it as, “people who are too lazy to write down their experiences, who always grab for a phone to take a quick picture or to stare at instead of enjoying the world around them, really don’t care.”
I’ve taken many snapshots and quite a few videos this trip, because I want to remember it. But snapshots won’t convey the feelings I felt or the thoughts I had about my experiences, and they won’t cement in my memory a timeline of what happened. So I must write. it may take weeks to unpack everything about this trip, but 4 days later I’m feverishly scribbling, determined not to forget. Determined to prove I really do care.