My thoughts today are off the cuff; there will be very little scientific theory or research for you to follow. It’s relative to writing but more about perceptions based on where we are at any given time.
I consider myself to be the center of the universe. I hope you do the same. I am not the center of your universe—nor should I be.
So, when I write anything, I imagine it as if I’m standing at the center of a compass—that’s my universe, my placement, or my location as I scribble. Is this strange? Maybe, but I do the same when I tell a story.
I could be facing south, east, or west, but in my mind’s eye, I am generally looking northward for storytelling purposes. I don’t struggle with this; I am what I am. Popeye might have said it first, but there’s a lot of truth in the words of some cartoon characters. I think of Fred Flintstone’s more intelligent quotes quite often.
I digress.
I only share this today because whenever I write a message, post, or article, I commonly tell you I went north, east, south, or west. In that same line of (my) truth, I refer to places as the north country, westward, eastward, southbound, northbound, eastbound, well, you get the picture. At least, I hope you do. That’s the point. I want you to see it from my vantage point.
I’m not arguing with you that my story is north, south, east, or west for you. It might not be. You might be in Canada, Alaska, Manitoba, Florida, Ecuador (I’ve got several readers in Ecuador), or even Saudi Arabia (I have some readers there, too).
Over the years, I have read and answered many comments questioning where I was or the place I spoke of. Many folks wrote back after my answer that it was not south, east, west, or north from their vantage points. No kidding?
A few months back, I had a back-and-forth with a man who said, “That’s not south; I am in the south.” I paraphrase a bit, but you get the idea. He was right, of course. He is/was much further south than I could possibly be. But his south is not my south. My south will always be a bit north of him. Additionally, and I am only firing for effect (FFE), my east and west are north of him—technically speaking.
I surmise that those folks picture themselves as the center of the universe. The center of their compass, as it were.
When I answered and tried to explain to another pleasant person, I realized—only today— that I was wasting words. This is not said because it made me angry. More so because our perception of our place on this planet is wholly ingrained. We hear stories from the center of our universe. We are the center of that compass as we read and listen or read.
From this day forward, I, Timothy Cotton, will no longer try to explain that my north is not yours. My south belongs to me; my east (a favorite direction of travel) has nothing to do with your view. South? It’s only mine.
I will write from the center of my compass without trying to push you out of the center of your own. But we should both get out our maps. Maybe place a pin where I tell you I am, and do your best to work with me. I’ll do the same. There’s not a darn reason we need to go on about it.
This newly sworn affirmation will save me thousands of words. Those exact words can be used later to bore you in other ways from other locations.
Incidentally, the sun does not always set in the west—nope. Two days a year, it sets “due west.” So even our views of something as simple and constant as a sunset can become comparative.
Thanks for reading and commenting on my stuff. I read and appreciate all your comments, no matter where in the world you think you are.
From the Jagged Edge of America (I swear), I remain, facing north, and,
TC
*Thank you to the recent members who embraced monthly donations as sworn members of the “Royal Order of Dooryard Visitors” in the BuyMeACoffee App. Your funding allows me to stand on my compass and write for a living (sort of). It means a lot to me.
Sincerely,
Tim C