While exploring the Web a bit last night (one of those website-link-to-a-blog-link-to-another blogroll link) that turns up interesting things, I ran across a blog from a writer who’s started an autobiographical novel.
It is written in a pretty breezy, conversational style that made reading easy, even though I don’t think it was really heavily edited or polished up for the public. It tells of his struggles with some addiction issues, successfully overcoming them, and other pieces of his life in a very readable, straightforward manner.
It’s a personal blog, and after reading a few chapters I clicked a link to another arts blog he had mentioned he was developing for not only writers but artists in other media as well.
Upon arriving at this project he had spoken about, I was somewhat shocked – this particular person, in his early 30’s, who seemed to finally be finding his voice – was dead.
He had died about 6 months ago. His sister and friends kept the site going as a memorial to him.
It was a jarring notion that this person who was becoming so real to me just one mouse-click ago was gone.
I never knew this person. It is certainly a tragedy for anyone to go that young, but that wasn’t what was responsible for the strange feeling I had. This young man had been a communicator – even in the few chapters I could tell he was able to transmit feelings and ideas in his work.
It makes you think…if you stopped doing whatever it is you are doing, would people notice? Would they feel your absence?
Because if they wouldn’t, maybe you should do something else.
I don’t mean to imply you should chase fame, or notoriety. Plenty of those kinds of people pass on and we don’t feel much. They never connected with us.
But hopefully, someone, somewhere, who may not even have known us, can look at what we’ve left behind and appreciate it. It’s the only way we have of any kind of immortality.
Makes you think about what you are leaving behind. Because if you don’t leave something behind, you are going to be dead a long, long time.