As much as I hate to admit it, blogging has become a way to let the fantasy Ruth shine. The mistress of this site is a creature of my own making. In some ways, she’s my ideal self. She loves to announce the ways she’s inspired to try and change the world, to try and ease suffering, to try and right some wrongs, show some love, eat less meat.
And then the real me shows up at a place like Fogo de Chao and finds beef melting in her mouth. My mouth. Wait. Who am I?
The one with a mouth full of cow swallowing her good intentions.
I need to tell you that I never did send those care packages to soldiers in Iraq last February like I promised I would.
And I never did mail those letters on behalf of the Amnesty poster prisoners. I had an envelope all addressed to Putin & everything. I was so close to following through. But didn’t.
As a matter of fact, I made these same confessions last December – saying that I’d eventually make good on the promises . . . and now, 12 months later, these unfinished chores are still on my mind. What is wrong with me?
The thing is: authenticity is a big deal to me. I wasn’t ever trying to pass myself off as someone other than who I am; I just had a whole lot of ambition and not quite so much energy.
For what it’s worth, I did finish that marathon; so I’m not, like, a complete slacker.
One of my favorite high school English teachers had this Robert Browning quote written on the chalk board for weeks on end, “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?” I guess this blog has become a place to make my reach public.
Reach for vegetarianism, grasp eating about 72% less meat than I used to. It’s self-improvement: light. Better living: in moderation.
To read me here is to see me reaching. And once or twice a year, I’ll throw in some confessions to show you what I ended up grasping.