My dad has to watch what he says around me.
He knows it too.
Last time I was home he asked me if everything he said was “on the record” or if he could speak freely not fearing that he’d find his offhanded thoughts published for the world (or at least thirty subscribers) to read! He asked because I’ve found myself increasingly in “blog-mode.” That is, travelling with a little black moleskine notebook where I jot down things that strike me later to transform them into something insightful, with complete sentences and actual punctuation.
I write a note or a quote or a reference and spend my times during commutes composing my next post. I’ve always done this — spent time thinking, composing, and rewording. After all, this is still true of me.
It’s as if my dad can see it happen in my eyes, when something brilliant he says hits me and I race for my moleskine before the epiphany fades. I write because it helps me process life better than anything else. Some process verbally, some paint or draw or hike. I write.
My mind rarely stops ruminating or formulating metaphors, sentences, and insights. So in that sense, yes, Dad, everything is on the record. Life is on the record. It cannot be unheard. Our words, thoughts, and insights matter. They impact others. Thanks for living life with me, on the record.