A Difficult Fall

Part of the reason I stopped blogging was that I was experiencing a difficult fall.  In the past, I likely would have blogged more as a way to sort through all the difficulties.  This past fall a lot was happening, a lot changing.  I actually stopped writing for a while.  There was too much to process.  Writing didn't help, as it usually does, so I stopped.  I turned inward and relied on some good friends to help me sort everything out.  I focused as much as I could on my family and kept moving.  I'd like to say that the difficult things I was experiencing--or more accurately, that my family was experiencing--have passed.  In some ways, they have.  In other ways, we're still sorting through these experiences.  I'm finally in a place in which I feel better prepared to write, in which I feel that writing will help.  That is, primarily, why I'm back. 

I also feel as though my reasons for blogging have changed.  I'm less interested in finding a community than I once was.  I will likely continue to tag my posts as I write them, more out of habit than anything else, but I'm not as concerned with how others will respond to my thoughts.  That begs the question: why blog, as it is, ostensibly, public?  The answer is that blogging is a form of journalling for me, although I recognize it is a public journal.  I could easily just write in a journal, even one I create on my computer, which I occasionally do.  I have returned to blogging because the kind of writing I do here feels different.  I'm not sure I can explain it in more depth than that, and I'm not sure I want to.  The writing, this time, is more out of necessity, out of my need to put things down in a tangible way, as I process my thoughts and experiences. 

Too much space

When I read today's strip of "For Better or For Worse," I laughed out loud because the idea that a person can have too much personal space directly contradicts everything I'm trying to say in my dissertation.

Separate Space

It is 8:26 in the evening. Wild Man is sound asleep in his room, and I am sitting in my office getting organized for tomorrow. I don't think words can truly express how happy I am to have my own work space again. Granted, it is a space I share with C, but as we actually work quite well in the same space, I don't mind sharing it. The office is truly a Wild Man-free zone, as we keep a baby gate at the door at all times (this is primarily to keep Wild Man out of the cats' litter box, but it serves a variety of purposes!). I no longer have to worry about him tossing my books about everywhere, and I can actually leave paper on the floor. We're very happy in our new home, and I'm very happy with my office. I actually worked from home today rather than schlepping everything to my office at school, and I got more done than I do when I'm on campus. This is a separation of spheres I am in favor of!

The Decoration of Houses

Warning: I'm using today's post as a free-write to work out some ideas for my dissertation.

I'm reading Edith Wharton's The Decoration of Houses, which she co-wrote with Ogden Codman, in preparation for my trip to her home, The Mount. I'm going there in May to do some research on Wharton's architectural and design ideas. As I was reading, this quotation struck me: "The very dangers and barbarities of feudalism had fostered and preserved the idea of home as something private, shut off from intrusion."

I've been thinking about this sentence since I read it yesterday. The idea that danger and uncertainty promotes privacy of the home interests me. Wharton (and Codman, although I'm much less interested in him) presents very clear ideas of home or the desire for home in many of her works; in fact, my dissertation a chapter on Lily Bart's desire for a home of her own (hence, my interest in Wharton's own home). That struggle and uncertainty promotes privacy seems integral to her fiction, especially The House of Mirth. Lily clearly doesn't experience the same kind of danger Wharton is referring to in this passage from The Decoration of Houses, but Lily does experience a sort of societal danger. But the danger Lily experiences has the opposite affect; it degrades rather than promotes her privacy. I would argue (and I think Wharton would agree) that Lily lacks privacy because of her position in society and because she has no space of her own. Even at the end of the novel, when she is living in a rented room, Lily still does not possess any space that is truly her own. She is excluded from society, and to an extent that exclusion affords her a certain amount of privacy. She is, however, still the talk of her social set, although they have discarded her. Everyone knows where she is and what she is doing, yet none of her "friends" or "family" knows the truth about Lily. How then does her lack of space affect her sense of privacy and her sense of her self? Lily carefully constructs herself to appear one way in front of her friends, and she rarely lets that mask fall, even when she is alone. How closely are space and privacy connected then? Lily has no space, and the only privacy she has is what her social set allows her. Clearly, I'm not sure where I'm going with this yet . . .