Day One

You could call this notes from a failing perfectionist. Or: notes from someone who after years of agonized questioning has observed that one person's perfect is another person's version of being a total jerk. At any moment, who is to say?

A week ago I chatted with an acquaintance who'd gone to Antarctica. The whole thing was thrilling and she was glad she'd gone and at the same time horrified. She said it was so familiar and at the same time so unfamiliar. She said that when you walk out in to the snow you sink in up to your shins, or deeper. And the holes don't go away. And this is a problem for the penguins: they are falling into our footprints.

This, you might say, is one more good reason for not starting a blog. The horror of footprints.

And then yesterday I went to a yoga class. A man had just stepped in off the street to ask for a class schedule. He was brand new to yoga. "There is a class right now," said the director. "Are you coming to that?" He said yes. "Now, that is a lesson for me!" she said. "Just jump right in!" She introduced him by name, and he seemed to do very well, because from whatever position I had flopped into on the floor, I could hear her calling, laughing: "Very good, hey-you-off-the-street!"

Or words to that effect. It's the blogosphere, you don't have to get anything exactly right, isn't that so?

So here we go.