Is This My Life?

The title of this post could be run through as an exercise in inflection and every version would feel appropriate at a certain point of each day. Is this my life? Is this my life? And so on. At the moment, at this moment, I am torn between just living–being OK, handling it, accepting, dealing, BEING–and trying to figure out how to get somewhere, do something, BE someone more. More.
This time of year it’s so easy to let go of it all, grab something warm to drink, and avoid everything. Escape into endless naps and countless old movies, and big, thick, deliciously diverting books. It’s not healthy, really, but as far as it allows me to cope and not go crazy, well, then it’s a little bit healthy. It’s not practical, let’s just say that.

Mostly I’m a capable person. But Things Overwhelm Me. Easily. Often.
This blog somehow became one of those Things.

So here’s a little post to break that tension.

Last week I went to the history center with a very old friend. She’s a special person. I have never been a very steady friend for her. But luckily she was up for an outing.
The exhibition–which we were both looking forward to very much–was one of those that seems as if a text book exploded on the walls. There were few objects. The text pertaining to to the objects was vague, general, not specific, and often didn’t tell a specific story. The words were dense and formal. Luckily, my friend has a passion for the subject and and she had wonderful stories for each section of the exhibition. She would read a panel and say “Oh, they left off an interesting part,” and then she would recount the tale and I would exclaim, “WHY didn’t they lead with that tidbit?!”

I won’t rant about the shortfalls of the exhibition, but between the two of us we wondered aloud why the designers made the decisions they did. And I am curious. Why? Why walls of text? Why organize it in that fashion? Why leave the interactive elements to the very end? Why use such formal language? Why not use some of those engaging and interesting stories my friend remembered from her own research?

And finally – remind me why I’m not working at a museum?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s