Happy Mediums

Someone at a wedding recently asked me a question on the dance floor: “How many times do you write something and not post it?” I thought it was a brilliant question. I pondered, turned to the electric DJ, turned back, and answered: “Like, finished? Maybe five. A draft of something, a few more.”

Alex and I met these two friends in line Wednesday night at a Greek frozen yogurt spot that is blowing up on Tik Tok. There was great energy in the air on a perfect night. It turned out this gentleman was from Long Island and went to U of A and had written a children’s book (I ordered it for Miles). I then explained at some point during the conversation I was going to ask for his email because I do some writing on the side too. He jumped to his next question: “You smoke?” I sputtered “sometimes.” But I then went on to explain my ideas do not come when I’m high. My famous “high” idea was sophomore year (of college) when I wanted to do mini models of things that weren’t mini yet and call it Mini Shirts and Pants. My other high friend and roommate told me those are just “dolls.” My high ideas weren’t the best. The ideas come from Epiphany Mountain I would say. Something hits. And I want to write about it.

But not this time. Not this post. Because for better or worse, the same things keep hitting me about human nature and our inexplicable addition to technology. And no one likes someone who writes about the same things. That’s why I’ve branched out in my writing. I’m trying to write a book. I love the idea (it was not a high idea) and I think it can work, but finding the time to write one good paragraph in one chapter is difficult. It takes focus. And unfortunately, the second home in the Catskills that I beg for every other day is currently unattainable. I crave a writer’s room with a window where you can feel and see the mountain air.

Writing is a unique and creative art form. We are very much a show me culture. I am not showing you anything by typing these words. I’m not showing you my six pack (I’m sore from Rumble and Swish House), my thinning hair line (I am convinced stress alopecia is not a thing, it’s just called having a stressful life and getting older), or my toe fungus (that I think could make a hilarious like Instagram story). I’m just talking to you. Trying to impart some wisdom I guess. But if I’m only sending this to call it,120 people, and half of the people read it word for word, I’m not doing it for exposure. I shouldn’t be.

I think what I miss most about the written art form is the natural and fun dialogue back and forth. I miss AIM (instant messenger) and the "brb's." I miss the dynamics of the clear separation of personal chat and professional banter. I recently started up an email thread with some fellow Duke Pike brethren just to bull shit. I miss the bull shit. I miss the humor of the bull shit. I feel like the real shit is pushed upon us at an uncontrollable rate, the bull shit isn’t allowed, so it’s only in limited situations (wedding convos with people who you’re only seeing at the wedding, random hangs with strangers in line) where that happy medium presents itself. This wasn’t my quote, so don’t quote me – but another person at that wedding, who I sat next to at Table 10, said “we’ve gone from happy mediums to sad extremes." I think it's true. And I think writing is something that is not extreme. Writing. Comments are extreme. Texting can be violent. Videos can go either way. But writing. Writing is steady eddy and a happy medium. And something that I think people should do more. Including myself.

I’m writing this for me and I’m writing this for you. A wonderful happy medium. And one I’ll post.