An old friend of mine was recently in Nepal visiting her quite remarkable 21 year-old daughter who decided to skip college and go start her own NGO, www.blinknow.org, a self-sustainable community for destitute and orphaned children. But that’s another story for another time.
On looking up at the expanse of stars under the Nepalese sky, my friend began to think about the nature of the universe and our relationship to it. Nature does that to us, especially the vast canvass of a night sky in a far away place. It always seems to call into question who we are and what we’re doing here. It is forever raising that ancient, unanswerable and most aggravating question, “What is it all about?”
Surprisingly, my friend tells me she also thought of me. There underneath that beautiful sky on the other side of the world, she thought about how I often groused to her about not seeing the value of writing “my little stories” about my “little life.” There, where the earth meets the sky, she concluded that doubts were to be expected when human art was measured against the best art of all. The bar is too high. Anyone would wonder, “Why bother?”
So why bother indeed. Why spend so much time arranging words on a page, trying to make sense of disjointed thoughts crammed into an overcrowded head? I could give a whole litany of long-winded answers, but in the end, it must be because it gives me pleasure. And even when I struggle with the process (and moan about it to friends who will listen), I finally have to admit that it gives me pleasure. That’s enough, right?
For my friend who spent two weeks contemplating life in the majestic Himalayas, my “little” stories help her to see just how funny (and fascinating) it is to be human every day. My stories, she says, bring some comedic relief to her overly active ego, ever ready with one crisis or another. She’s says she’s grateful for the respite. And I am grateful to be of service. Because just like her remarkable daughter in Nepal, I like being of service. It makes me feel good. Certainly, it’s got to be the reason we bother.
So I am once again reminded why I need to write and why we all need to gaze at the stars and why it’s useful to have wise friends.
Sixties Chick 