The other day, I discovered that I can go on a virtual visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Louvre, or any other famous museum of the world. I can go to restaurants, classrooms on college campuses, balconies with a view of the sun setting under New York City, or almost any other place, in vivid, shockingly realistic, high-definition visuals on Google Maps. I can zoom out, and out, and out, and see the whole sphere of Earth suspended in an endlessness of nothingness and stars. One part of the earth is in darkness, and if I drag Earth to just the right angle, I can see the other half illuminated by an ethereal glowing star millions of miles away. I can tilt Earth again and see the band of the Milky Way beneath, some indescribable distance away.

I spin Earth, stop it, and begin to arbitrarily zoom in, and in, and in. I am now in North America, flying to Nova Scotia, which is tainted with waves of red from an endless sea of trees. I happen to land in a parking lot off of a highway in Halifax. I notice a rainbow-striped tent and a concession stand: I am at a carnival, perhaps. It is quite a dizzying experience, to see the smallness of Earth in the grand scene of the universe and then observe a snapshot of human life, which, despite its apparent insignificance, continues to just be; and despite the overbearing vertigo of the nature of our existence, it can still appear motionless and even peaceful.

Of course, Google Maps has not always been so existentially cognizant. As a child, one of my favorite pastimes consisted of using Google Maps to walk through streets of my town and attempt to discern through the heavily pixelated images various buildings I had known. The entirely of Earth at that time had been a map similar to the one seen in elementary school classrooms. Most humans believe that the earth is round: unavoidably round. Trying to create a two-dimensional model of it would be like trying to flatten an orange peel. Such a model with inevitably rip apart. This map appears gaudy and childish in comparison to the new model of Google Maps, yet my ten-year-old mind had been blown away by its implications and its vastness.

It has been almost a month since I last posted on my blog. The eventual death that came with that final post, which was coincidentally on the topic of decay, was the finality of a process that had started sometime in mid November: I had become disillusioned with the whole procession of blogging. I had begun to notice more and more what blogging really is: an efficient microcosm for people to jostle for attention. Because that is what is really at the core of human desire. On one particular planet among millions, zooming through space and shrouded in uncertainty, one can still focus in on some small area of the word, such as a circus tent surrounded by highway and autumn foliage or a personalized internet address in an almost infinite cyberspace, and feed on the illusion of significance. In reality, my internet presence was just a shy and tentative suggestion of my existence: a whisper drowned out by a thunderous cry for attention, but I don’t think any of us really know what to do here.

Today I dug up the remains of my blog, my child, my “Kat’s Observations.” I was saddened to see how lonely it had become: it was now just another abandoned blog. It was now just one more dead leaf on the winter pavement: forgotten. What I saw reminded me of that outdated version of Google Maps. It all just seems like a pretty display now; I cannot discern myself behind it all. Where am I? But I have also realized that I cannot allow my writing to exist only in the void of my mind and a few lines of unseen, intangible code behind a screen. That makes me feel invisible. I don’t want to be invisible. Perhaps I have been reading too much into metaphysics, but being invisible is exactly the faith that I want to pretend does not exist.

As such I restart my journey as a blogger.


22 thoughts on “Addendum

  1. Welcome back! Like you, I often feel “my internet presence [is] just a shy and tentative suggestion of my existence.” Who I am is so much more than JanBeek. But the Love One Another sub-title is closer to how I choose to live. It is the message I try to Covey in my daily walk. My blog is an attempt to send out that message of love to a larger world. Most days I only get about 20 views out of nearly 400 followers. But, if only ONE of those 20 leaves my message with an intent to live more lovingly, trust more completely, and share more generously, then my time here is worth it. So, thank you for clicking on my blog and leaving a trail. I found you … and I’ll be back. Blog with purpose! God bless you!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Jan! You definitely have a good way of looking at the purpose of your blog. I would also love to have that mindset, and at one point I think I did, but I guess the overbearing idea that my internet voice is only one in millions got the best of me. I’m working to get that mindset back, though. I don’t really know what message I want my readers to come away with after reading my blog, but still, just like you, I do want to make some kind of impact. Again, thank you for your comment. It means a lot to me.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I never did catch your last blog post, “Decay”, but I did notice your absence and wondered what you were up to. I certainly encourage you to continue to write…and to share it with us whenever you’re able! Everything may be ultimately insignificant, but in this present life on this tiny, precious blue planet, you’re certainly not invisible (though I get the same feeling, at times).

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I think I had some sort of writers block or existential crisis, but I’m glad to be back now. Writing has always been a big part of my life, and I’m excited to be back at it. Thank you for your support! 🙂


  3. Kat, I walked into a supermarket yesterday at about 6pm in fading daylight I could see the moon shinning so brightly, and I was thinking how I’m in the car park of Tescos in this small UK town, and the sun is behind the earth shinning brightly off the moon, and the whole thing is spinning at 1000 mph, with me on it, and how crazy it all is that no one else in the shop seems aware of whats actually going on! Sometimes I feel like I should grab the first person and scream “don’t ya know what’s really going on??”

    Talking of old writings, when I was 30, I did a degree in art, I wrote my dissertation on philosophy and culture mostly, but then when I went and looked at it 15 yrs or so later, it read like it was written by a near imbecile! I think on reflection I wrote what I knew I had to, to get that grade, bullet points and all that, it just read like it was written by a 12 yr old!

    I’m over 50 now, and I’m still barking mad 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

    1. That’s exactly how I feel sometimes, and I don’t think I would ever be able to appreciate the enormity and outright absurdity of this whole existence phenomenon. It is really amazing, how the universe turned out the way it did, beautiful even, yet we all seem to forget it.

      It’s always strange to look back at old writing, especially writing that you once loved and believed was a clear representation of what was going on in your head. That’s what I thought about all the posts I wrote over the summer, but now they all feel so distant. I don’t know, maybe I changed as a person and have not even noticed.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. I know we don’t know each other, but that you didn’t invite me – “virtual visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Louvre” – well, I feel stood up, but at least you shared the brilliance of this.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Hi Kat! Nice to read you again. I think we all go through the cycle of blogavation and retreat. I’m on my 3rd blog and this time I found a few friends and my readership stays amazingly small. No matter, I need to practice writing if I plan to become legible one day. I’ve managed to keep both feet in the rat race and still post now and then. Whatever you do, do it for yourself and those of us that appreciate the wisdom and reflections you share will always be happy to see you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, I’m happy to be back! For me, it was never about how big my readership is. It was just that, at times, I felt like there was no purpose behind publishing post after post after post. But I eventually realized that not everything needs to have a reason, so I came back.

      Liked by 2 people

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s