I called this picture Winnie the Pooh because my older son looks kind of like a little Pooh Bear. Even at that time I already felt wistful about how quickly time goes by. My older one was born in my first semester in grad school and at the graduation he was three. His younger brother would not be born for another year and a half but the passage of time was already making it’s mark. He is now applying to high schools and time just keeps going. Whether we stand still or we write like we are running out of time (nod to Hamilton), time keeps moving. We can put our time to good use by setting goals and going after them or we can sit around and wait for something to move us. It can be difficult. I know because I am right in this middle of a change myself. I am fighting with the sense of getting older and trying to understand the constantly evolving world of technology and, particularly, social media. The little guy in the picture is now teaching me about social media. It’s like the picture above except that my older son is holding my hand now because I have much to learn. In fact, my younger son can teach me as well. What I have learned is that my hand needs to be held whether by my children or my spouse. I often struggle with changes in technology but in the end I come round to this picture and it gives me a great sense of hope. It doesn’t matter who is holding someone’s hand but rather how we connect and help each other when we do grasp hands. It is not a one way interaction but rather a connection that helps us to get to where we are going.
I don’t know if this will be something that I write only once or something that will truly be a beginning of countless other stories. What I do know is that I am beginning again and going down a new road. We all tell stories whether it was something we saw, heard, imagined, felt, or something else. Stories are the fabric of my life. For me, stories are a fundamental part of who I am. There have been countless times where I have written something just to remind me of an event that happened, a lesson learned, something scary, or how I feel about someone. Stories are how I express myself.
The first time that I can remember writing about my thoughts and feelings was in 1980. I had a Christian Yoga class at my high school and a priest named Father Gatto required us to write in the journal every day. He would check the journals weekly. If he hadn’t checked them I might not have ever bothered with the journal. However, he did and I soon found that it was good way to vent my feelings particularly about his class and life as a teenager. I don’t know what happened to him but I am thankful for his journal exercises because they became the foundation for writing about my observations and stories.
Today is the beginning of writing a blog. It feels like an open highway.
This is my first post and I never thought I would blog. I feel lost in this world of Facebook, Instagram, and whatever else is out there. Times change. It’s interesting because I did believe in electronic messages years ago. I loved taking the time to create a message on mixed tapes. You can still create playlists but they are easily created and do not require anywhere near the time it took to make a playlist on a cassette. I’m trying not to be a dinosaur but I certainly feel the part. This is me in 1982 holding my vanity plate for my first car. It was gag gift from my brothers. The name Clofos was one that I made up. My eldest brother liked to talk about philosophy during our morning commute to the university that we both attended. He would talk to me about Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates and their beliefs at 7 in the morning. After several weeks of this I decided to make up a fictional philosopher named Clofos and when he started up with philosophy I would make up quotes from Clofos. It became a running joke to the point where I ended up with a vanity plate. I decided to name this blog CLOFOS because it take me back to the beginning of wanting to help others. I will explain further in another post. Until then, have a great day!