Trepidation

Somewhere is some writer’s well-constructed remark — if I knew where to start searching I’d be there — about the fear of no one ever reading you is only slightly scarier than the thought your works are being read.

Relatives who live many states away, I learned on a recent family reunion, read me with some regularity. They won’t care about local or state affairs so how can I upload a Brick about my home that’d interest them?

Ozark friends and acquaintances occasionally mention they’ve read some recent Brick. Maybe I write too intimately about my home, family, or personal history and once-hidden emotions. Do I blunt revelations either from fear of being misunderstood or explaining too well?

Colleagues within my company, on many tiers, rarely acknowledge Brick to my face, but I recognize its IP addresses when I check my site control panel’s statistics. My company has no direct policy on non-work blogs of employees so not knowing if I cross some line causes, well, delays. I’d call myself lucky, but my hard-won judgment on staying this side of the moving line has worked so far.

You could call them blocks, all of them. They keep me from posting with regularity when they get the better of me.

Then I see my friend Nick Masullo. He’s got a rapid form of multiple sclerosis, forced to retire from a cool job in 2003. He still writes songs and even a regular column for the alt Fayetteville Free Weekly (no hyperlink as it posts inconsistently). Sunday, Nightbird Books hosted a release party for his latest CD and also a book of those columns. Nick hasn’t walked for ages, and it’s been some time since he’s been able to play guitar. More recently he’s given up on even warbling those lyrics of his. His sight is going. But he played emcee with perfect timing, introducing his songs and essays, as well as their musicians and readers.

That same day, CSPAN2/BookTV ran a short hour with Michael Kinsley. The commentator and editor is 57 and was diagnosed with Parkinson’s at 42. Kinsley and Masullo — even to people whose politics strongly vary — how can their fortitude not be admired? It’s a cliche to say Nick inspires me every time I see him. But cliches generally contain truth. That’s how they got that way.

That may be so but what is it exactly? I watched Nick and his close friends (I’m well in the middle distance, knowing his wife better) on stage trying to figure it out. Can’t say he’s a lot smarter than me. Sure can’t say I side with all of his political stances or that he always defends them well. Kinsley has us both beat on IQ and facileness, even put together then doubled.

Nick’s wise but not a sage, even with the opportunities that his forced convalescence gives him for lengthy contemplation. As I heard the songs and columns, and his improvised whispered asides, I saw something. He’s not entirely at peace with his prognosis but he’s accepted it. Not only that, his sense of humor has only increased (Ginny moistens his mouth with water from a small spray bottle, and he tells the crowd he never goes anywhere without his “vodka splash”). His love for others is not tinged with envy or bitterness (sure, he’s bitter about the MS and lack of resources for it despite this being 21st-century America). He calls himself lucky for having some resources, worrying only about people without health care.

Nick simply lives the life he’s got fully, with wit and compassion. Kinsley trucks on, being influential on a national scale. And little ol’ me worries that a quickly written blog entry won’t always be on target, knowing after decades of writing that polished and repolished essays misfire unpredictably, too. If I or anyone prefers life’s usual treadmill to the risks of expression, well look at Nick.

Everything’s a gift. Every thing is a gift.