Dearest stranger from the internet,
I honestly don't know what to say, here on the “About” page. I mean, I know what I'm supposed to say: “Diana is a writer, systems architect and something-funny-clever. She does stuff like …” But isn't that trite1?
I mean, really, do you know me by the labels I paste on myself? I like some of those labels. For example, I love systems architecting so I'm glad you know that I architect (knowledge) systems. But writer is a misnomer2. I don't write as much as breathe words. To say I'm a writer is like saying I'm a breather. When I share this, I don't often feel understood, but perhaps you know what I mean?
My story might be interesting (to some) but I think better saved for the memoir I'll write someday maybe, if I ever decide to write a memoir, which, at the moment, I have no plans to do. Isn't that what we are supposed to want, later in life? Time to reflect on our story? I reflect on the past a lot IRL and frankly, it's tedious. My life is vibrant and interesting today. Best I keep my attention there so I don't miss out.
My experiences of fear and guilt and uncertainty are probably similar to yours, we all get lost in our own drama, don't we? Drama that seems SUPER important but later feels like a supreme waste of our attention. I've wasted time making the wrong kind of drama in the wrong ways for what seemed like the right reasons at the time, benefiting me little in the long run. Now, hopefully, I more-often make worthwhile time investments, planting my energy in gardens that bear fruit. The best thing about growing older is learning to discern the difference.
Words only make a sound when someone reads them. So thank you for reading my words; thank you for hearing me. I'm glad to join you on your journey, for a few minutes. Words have always been my best companions. May I offer some in return for all that have so generously been shared with me.
In this moment,
Diana: Resistant rearranger of things