Just a flashback. Will this orange notebook now become a diary for and about my daughter Emme, just like the gray notebook in my office at home? Or, I just write whatever comes to mind and most of it is a memory of, an inspiration from, a story about, my daughter.
Which also plays a role in part: fear. Or actually fear is not the right word. It stems from a worry that bubbles up in my head when I hear others talk about their childhood, about their children’s childhood, relationships with their parents, filled with telling anecdotes and remarkable events. When I hear or read something like that, it often happens that I turn my mind away and focus on… right, my daughter. How much could I retell? What stories could I, right now, spontaneously spout? And how does, or how will Emme look back on those stories?
The uncomfortable feeling actually indicates that I’m afraid of a blank page in my head. And that would be terrible, because our life together is so meaningful. And actually it is also a bit strange, that fear, because at the beginning of this notebook I praised the empty pages so extensively – if I remember correctly (I could check!) (not checked!).
As implied before, it is mainly the “now” that counts; which makes the lookout to the end a lot more livable. But still, a little reference to the past here and there is nice. Here we go then: “The sound of life!” says Emme with a broad smile as she touches her new cello. And so it is. Your feather is still whirling, carried by music, a blue sky is your destiny.
Written on October 23, 2019