Ginger Sorvari

My online persona has a few different names. The most pervasive is my given name (and the title of this blog). Another is more personal, but has a long history: lovelyginger.

I’ve thought about abandoning this name, since the era of screen names continues to wane. Still, the name has sentimental value for me. It reminds me of my journey. Of lessons that I’ve learned. And that I am loved.

And so the name remains.

For the curious ones who haven’t yet asked, I’ll explain the story. But telling the story of lovelyginger requires telling the story of David.

David was my Ancient Hebrew Studies professor at the University of Wisconsin. Among other fascinating traits (which I’ll save for another time), David spoke often of his wife, el Susan. Always clearly filled with adoration for her, he would mention the insightful comments she made and her clever turns of phrase.

I thought it slightly odd that my professor would include “el” before his wife’s name, but as a Hebrew professor, I figured that this was probably rooted in the some mysterious literary purpose known only to PhDs.

Then, one day, in response to a classmate’s question, David explained: the name was not el Susan, it was L. Susan. The L was short for Lovely, and he used the term to refer to his wife, each and every time he used her name. He wanted to remind both himself and his wife that she was beautiful. And deeply loved.

For nearly twenty years, David’s overwhelming love for his wife has made me well up with tears. His intense love for her is simply beyond words.

I’ve told the story of David many times, to friends and family and boyfriends. So often that I can’t keep track and have likely repeated myself on countless occasions.

Then in 1999, as I sat isolated and alone in my hospital bed, suffering from the most severe lupus flare of my life, my boyfriend paid me a visit. He brought with him a laptop, so I could reconnect with my friends. And he had set up a Hotmail account for me: lovelyginger.

He didn’t need to say anything more. I was forever his.

Still today, still in love with the same man, I use lovelyginger in online spaces. And each time I’m on Twitter or elsewhere, I remember that I am beautiful. And am deeply loved.

Yesterday, as I walked to a friend’s house, I found myself facing what seemed like a momentous decision: Do I walk along the sidewalks, or cut through the park and walk in the grass?

The route through the park certainly wasn’t much of a shortcut, so it didn’t really save me time. And, there would be the hot sun shining down on me. Maybe mosquitoes. Not to mention that my low heels would probably annoy me, as they’d sink into the soft ground.

Nonetheless, in a heartbeat it was clear that the only thing I could do, should do, was to take off my shoes and walk barefoot through the park. I immediately slipped out of my shoes and into the grass.

As I walked, somehow the birds sang louder, the grass seemed greener, and the breeze blew a bit more freely. For those few moments, I took a break from the whirlwind of my life.

And, I broke some sort of unwritten rule. Yes, I was taking a rebellious stand against the tyranny of the sidewalk. Exhilarating, in a miniscule sort of way.

After my walk, my exhilaration stayed with me throughout the day. Everything I did seemed just a bit more true, more real.

Now… how should this post end? Is the point that I should take time out when I can? That I’m learning to act in the moment? That these beautiful spring moments may rush by before I notice them?

I have no idea.

I just really liked walking barefoot in the park.

And for today, that’s enough.

I should blog more often.

I know this, I really do.

This fact looms in my mind every time I think about something I’d like to share with the world.

And then I look around and see how much STUFF is out there. Online spaces are full of people writing their personal diatribes, reviews, opinions, Top 5 lists, stories, random posts, videos, and advice. Good stuff, but it’s noisy out there.

Almost invariably, this stops me in my tracks. I stop writing and feel an overwhelming sense to listen more, learn more, and know more. The next hour or two is then spent reading others’ stuff, clarifying my own thoughts, and figuring out how what I’ve learned applies in my life.

It’s at this point that I’m happy to know I’m not adding to all the stuff in the world. Like the abundance we have in physical stuff, we are bombarded by digital stuff. Perhaps A&E should develop a new series about digital hoarders – those of us with more RSS feeds and Facebook friend updates than we can ever hope to read.

(For those who ask me  – quite regularly in fact – why I don’t follow more people on Twitter, this is the reason: I actually want to read all of their updates. To know these people. To spend time listening to what they have to say.)

This probably limits my “personal brand.” I certainly can’t be called an active blogger and I don’t have thousands of loyal fans commenting on my every post.

At the same time, I’m not alone. Plenty of us share ourselves in online spaces. We learn more every day. We are inspired by others’ incredible insights. And we use those insights to form our perspectives, get work done, and manage our lives. We can participate in different ways, which is good.

Still, I have this nagging feeling that I should blog more. Perhaps at some point I will.

In the meantime, know that I’m listening. Building. Acting. Doing.

And, when I feel inclined, I’ll add more stuff in the world – when I have something to share that adds value. Not more noise.