It's hard to understand. After so many years, it's weird to figure that we can stop blogging without the blogosphere grinding to a halt. Never mind grinding to a halt: without missing a beat. In some cases, without noticing at all.
Yesterday some folks were asking if Dave Winer had stopped for good, the wrapped burrito at the end of his post signifying, 'it's a wrap.' Today he's back, so no, that wasn't his exit. He gave a 9 month window, so now dramatic pauses have his readers wondering.
With so many folks talking about quitting blogging, and then continuing to post, it's hard to keep up. To the point that I'm afraid I'll miss moving day if and when they actually do go.
But it's bigger than that.
When I was a kid on the school bus the days following my father's death, traveling the bumpy country road to my first-grade classroom, I got it.
Even at 6, I sensed the tremendous disconnect between my shattered world and the world-as-usual, its regular cadence in tact, without so much as a gasp or a sigh for our loss.
At the store, people bought groceries. At the gas station, people pumped gas. On the playground, kids played. Street lights turned red, yellow, green. The radio didn't mention it. My toys were in the same order as the days before. The dog ate his kibble with the same hunger. The horses still grazed. The wind didn't even bother changing direction.
My God, how can souls pass from this world without something breaking somewhere besides hearts.
It's like that when I hear of the fatal state of a blogger, one who, for whatever reason, disappears from the blog world. We barely bother with the wake anymore. It's right back to the snark; we have other bolded RSS feeds in our aggregators to take the dearly departed's place. The irony.
It's a life lesson. I had to learn it early. It wasn't lost on me.
Say it and keep saying it, because when you stop what's left is not eerie silence, but the maddening hum of sameness.
Tags: death, leaving, loss, quitting, blogging, tech, death = Powered by Qumana
