Immortality on the Internet- Originally posted Feb 20, 2010
Looking through photos of relatives that have passed brings so many questions to mind; what did she dream of? Who did he love most? What sacrifices did she make? What tragedies shaped his life? In what ways did this unknown ancestor influence my present life?
If no one remembers who you were and what you were inside, does this mean that your thoughts and dreams evaporate when your time on Earth is over?
Is this why I blog? To be remembered? To adamantly declare that "I will NOT be forgotten! I will not be reduced to a half-dozen, unlabeled, fuzzy photographs in a box in someone's attic. My presence on this planet will have an impact because I write these words in this little box, from my little office." Like Independence Day, "We will not go quietly into the night!"
I suppose I am no better than the very people I (internally) mock. The ones who desperately purchase anti-aging creams and Botox in an attempt to retain their youth. The people who say "IF they die..." instead of "WHEN I die..." People who cannot accept that our bodies are temporary (so incredibly temporary) modes of transportation for our spirit's stream of consciousness.
I suppose that in writing my little escapades on my little blog in my little fraction of the internet, I am desperately carving my name on the wall and screaming "I WAS HERE!" No matter how I sugar-coat my reasons for blogging (making friends! recording our lives for my children! parental camaraderie!) I must honestly admit that it all boils down to the same need we all have which is to know that we MATTERED.
Don't you... Forget about me...
Yes, yes. I know. I MATTER. I matter to my family. I matter to my friends. I love them all, and they love me. I am blessed in knowing this fact so confidently. That is not in question. But, the older I get, the more I feel the need to make a more permanent mark upon the outside world. A painting, an article, an accomplishment of some sort that causes me to stand out from the rest. Something that proclaims "She was here! She was fabulous and ordinary and flawed and HUMAN. She dreamed and loved. Her heart expanded and fractured. And there will never be another exactly like her!"
I don't want to go quietly into the night...
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