“We are important and our lives are important, magnificent really, and their details are worthy to be recorded. This is how writers must think, this is how we must sit down with pen in hand. We were here; we are human beings; this is how we lived. Let it be known, the earth passed before us. Our details are important. Otherwise, if they are not, we can drop a bomb and it doesn’t matter. . . Recording the details of our lives is a stance against bombs with their mass ability to kill, against too much speed and efficiency. A writer must say yes to life, to all of life: the water glasses, the Kemp’s half-and-half, the ketchup on the counter … We must become writers who accept things as they are, come to love the details, and step forward with a yes on our lips so there can be no more noes in the world, noes that invalidate life and stop these details from continuing.” – Natalie Goldberg
The lovely, eloquent Melissa (if you’re not reading her blog, you should be) shared this extract in the comments on this post this week. I wanted to share it, because I think it is pertinent and powerful and achingly relatable: the water glasses, the ketchup on the counter, the devil in the details. My weekend, in photos and in details – the leather gloves passed between us in the wind and the shout of the plane trees, their unceasing yellow a slight against the weekend’s smoke-grey sky. The potted rosemary carried home in the gloaming, the afternoon already dark enough that I could not see my fingers before my face. Him, and I, and my family, and our tiny apartment – a trail of teacups littering the surfaces from sofa to kitchen, marking a well-spent Saturday and Sunday. How was your weekend?