I posted on my other blog a few thoughts about my contributions to the Times Dispatch that appeared in this morning’s paper. In rereading the interview I realize I didn’t really answer Tom Silvestri’s question about why I find death “endlessly interesting.” I’ve written a little about that in the past, but other people ask me about it, too. I plan to take another crack at coming up with an answer.
But first let me put it in perspective. There are a lot of things large and small I find endlessly interesting: race relations, love, newsgathering, popular songwriting, the act of editing, business, anything scientific that I can understand, some things scientific that I can’t understand, religion, politics, big ideas, little ideas, gun legislation, education, philanthropy, Sinatra’s singing, Bob Dylan, communication, my clients (no kidding), my partners, creative people, most of my closest friends, movies, television. I’m not very knowledgeable about it, but I’m much more interested in American history today than I ever was before.
On another day, I’d probably come up with a different list, but it would be just as long and varied. Death would be on my list both days, but even now I don’t find it any more interesting than a half-dozen other things.
This is a horrible thing to admit, but I’m also endlessly interested in me, especially my faults and weaknesses. I realize that even with the emphasis on the negative, there’s some kind of narcissism at work there. (That’s one of the weaknesses I’m interested in.) On the positive side, I definitely believe in the rewards of living an examined life.
Now that I’m off on this tangent, it occurs to me that there’s another list—the things I used to find endlessly fascinating but don’t anymore. When Jason lived at home, he got me interested in the NBA. Since then I’ve deliberately reduced the amount of time I spend thinking about sports by at least 90%, partly because I wanted the time for other things and partly because I became disgusted with so many athletes. I used to be more interested in art and theater. Not so much now. Writing itself was once a huge interest. I don’t have the patience for literary writing these days; I don’t even want to read it. And I’ve let my own writing—which was never very high on a literary scale–become lazier. I used to rewrite everything again and again. I do much less of that now. (Sorry.) Thank goodness no one needs me to be a copywriter any more; I’d be awful.
I’ve never been too interested in cars, houses, diseases, medicines, travel, finances, fashion or shopping even though I’ve had magnificent cars, houses, diseases, medicines and travel experiences. (I’ve loved the cars, houses and trips—really, really loved them—but I really don’t have anything much to say about them.) I know how lucky I am that I don’t have money problems. In my life I’ve spent way too much on clothes and shopping.
So I’m interested in death, but it’s not all-consuming. It’s one of the things I think about. I’ll try later this week to figure out why. Stand by.
