Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Cardboard Boxes

Today I was told, "You'd have fun in a cardboard box!"

Thanks? I think.

It was over facebook chat at the end of my work day and the uncensored part our conversation went like this:

Him: on a plane to LA but there is no katrina

Me: that’s right… cuz i’m in my cubicle in the basement of the empire state building…

Him: how’s the city treatin you?

Me: i’m loooovin’ nyc
i’m surprised actually, how much the city already feels like home

Him: Im SO GLAD!!!
you’d have fun in a cardboard box

Me: ah… you’ve read old posts… is that where the cardboard box reference came from? or did you just make that up?

Him: no… just thought of it when i thought of how you’re always smiling

Me: it’s true… i’m glowing & lovin’ life…

I haven't seen "him" since the night we met at the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood - the same hotel that Marilyn Monroe use to frequent at the start of her career. But that particular spring night it was me, not Marilyn, who enjoyed a drink and good company at the poolside bar. That night, in and of itself, is worthy of its own piece of writing. I promise, someday it will receive the story that it deserves, but for now, I’m pondering cardboard boxes.

Because although I suggested in the facebook conversation that I had written about cardboxes on my blog or in a post, I later realized, I haven’t – at least not on my own blog. However, years ago I left a brief blog post on someone else’s blog.

Tuesday, November 25, 2003
"I still play with cardboard boxes." ~Marie

Marie Devonshire was my pen name, and I wrote those words in response to a post that the moderator of the blog had posted on October 27, 2003, a post that included the sentence, “I want heaven to be nothing more than life as an eternal 12 year old, with a never ending supply of refrigerator boxes…”

The blog still exists today (modesty.blogspot.com), and I’m glad it does because I consider it to be sacred space, because it was there that I first start to dabble in writing. Although I contributed only a half dozen or so pieces to the blog (mainly at towards the end of 2003 and at the beginning of 2004), at least two them were somewhat brilliant, and that’s when I started to believe that I had “it” in me.

Unfortunately I’ve been burying my talent for years (like so many of us do). I think because of fear or perhaps desire for the perfection that we know we’ll never be able to achieve. It’s as if we give up prematurely just so we don’t have face the possibility of failure. When the fact of the matter is, it takes much rejection and criticism to progress to that place of…

of…

of…

I can’t seem to find the right words to end this piece - perhaps because I’m still progressing to that place. Then again, maybe there is no place, and I will always need to keep moving beyond where I currently am. Hmmm, that must be it; there is no arrival, so lets keep moving forward.

Dear Him,
If you're reading this, I don't typically save facebook chat conversations. I was just inspired (or something) by ours and decided to save some of the content. I hope that was okay. Can't wait to connect once you're back on the East Coast!

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