Chris DeLine

Cedar Rapids, IA

A Point of Contact

Published in Blog.

What this was…

There’s a lot hiding out in plain sight within the confines of this blog: Hundreds of thousands of words and decade and a half of identities, all housed under a single roof. A couple years ago I thought it’d be worthwhile to bring in as much of my digital past into a single website, collecting for myself what I could, rather than letting it decay elsewhere or disappear entirely. Calling the archives a hodgepodge would be generous, but I’d rather they exist than not.

What this is…

I want to use this space moving forward for a number of reasons: Maybe to add another layer of public accountability where there currently isn’t one; maybe to house creative projects; maybe just to journal. I don’t know, really, and I don’t have a feeling for a mission statement at this point. In opening this space back up though, what I do have are genuine feelings of both fear (over sharing all that exists here) and hope (over what this might lead to). There is a lot of “me” on this website. Not everything from my past is reflective of where I’m at today, but that’s part of where I think we’re all coming from. The archives are no less anxiety-inducing to share, knowing that, but at the same time without all of the past this wouldn’t be what it is. As for where I’m at today? And what am I doing today? And what thoughts am I feeling presently? That’s the essence of what a blog is, and as antiquated as the concept might seem in 2020, the medium seems as important to me now as it ever has. For some reason that brings with it a sense of hope, or calm, or peace.

Where this is going…

Life right now is big and scary. My current viewpoint into the world doesn’t help: Social media does not regularly lend itself to peace, and the contagious nature of today’s fears only seem to bloom and blossom in such spaces. Further, it’s difficult to look at the news right now, in the face of growing pain and concern, and not internalize that as stress, anger, fear, or sadness. But in my own house, at this very moment, if I slow down and breathe, even for just a moment, the space becomes overflowing with peace and gratitude. Today is about turning down the volume, and reclaiming a small space from which I can nurture the life I want to live. And within this screen space I hope to do something similar in creating something of thought garden—planting and nurturing seeds, experimenting, and seeing how it grows.