It's been 5 years since I wrote the second (and essentially last) issue of Anecdotal Evidence. I say essentially, because there were some notebook scribblings and ill-conceived attempts to draft Issue 3 that never panned out quite like I hoped they would.
Reposting these stories was sometimes fun, sometimes painful, and occassionally enlightening. I was amazed to find that some of the anecdotes I remember having spent hours and days crafting five years ago, had completely slipped my mind until I re-read them as I set up posting them to the blog. Heck, I had forgotten about the French Kicks' cute bass player, and the gas man on the New Jersey Turnpike.
Some things have changed a lot for me in the last five years--my age, geography and work are the most obvious. I'm now firmly ensconced in my late twenties and after five years in DC, I've been in Philadelphia for 6 months. Right now, as I sit in my backyard listening to Calexico (some things haven't changed), pecking away on my laptop on a sunny, 78-degree July day thinking about then and now and everything in between, I get the sense that I'm right where I'm supposed to be (for now, at least). That photo at the top of this post is my vegetable garden and the view from my backyard, and if you could see through the rooftops and powerlines, you'd see the Philly Skyline.
For about three and half years, I've been been doing regional economic development and social problem solving--trying to make Greater Washington, DC and now Greater Philadelphia more prosperous and better run communities for all who live and work in them. The work is challenging and frustrating and interesting and creative and meaningful and slow, but I'm one of the few people that I know who can honestly say, "I love my day job." And, I'm glad that I do work that I believe in.
In my non-work life, over the last five years, I've spent many an hour, day, week engaging with other people's stories--in real life and through books and plays and movies and records. But, as I reread the old issues of Anecdotal Evidence, I was reminded of how fun it is to be creative and write my own stories with others--even if it only is a small group of others--having the opportunity to engage and respond to them.
I'm not so deluded as to think that I'm so tremendous or worthy of a biography. But, many of the stories that I love the most, and certainly the ones I relate to the most, are not grand ones. Most of us will never have the narrative arc, well-crafted oratory/prose/lines or depth of impact of a Michael Bloomberg or Charles Darwin or Lorelai Gilmore (and I realize that I am probably the only person who would list NYC's Mayor, the father of evolution, and a much-beloved, albeit fictional tv character as my examples--but I'm an onion, baby). Most of what connects us are little experiences that happen in-between major life events--the conversations, the images, movies, books, songs, trips, thoughts, dreams, experiences--the anecdotal evidence.
So, going forward, I'm going to build off the history of Anecdotal Evidence the zine, and attempt to turn it into a living, evolving blog by sharing one new anecdote each week, a tidbit from the past or present that's rattling around in my head. I'm going to attempt to do this, not because I think it will have some long-lasting impact on others (though it's lovely to have such narcissistic aspirations), but because, at the end of the day, it's fun and challenging and interesting and frustrating and a little bit scary to tell stories, to share pieces of myself. And thus far, I've found when something is fun, challenging, interesting, frustrating and a bit scary, it's usually worth doing.
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