1) Something that joins or connects two or more things.
2) The act of connecting two or more things or the state of being connected.
3) A situation in which two or more things have the same cause, origin, goal, etc.
In a way, I am a connection. Without me, certain introductions would not have been made – or broken. Certain ideas would not have become product. I have joined “two or more things” simply by my curiosity. Simply by my presence.
In this way, I have been a connector. The offspring of creator. A found-object artist. I asked questions and gave answers. I stepped in and shied away. And those decisions influenced a “state of being connected.”
My brother and I have the same parents. We have the same list of childhood addresses that trail across the nation. We share memories of holidays, stupid jokes, friends. We shared the same songs — writing lyrics simultaneously. And yet, we aren’t wholly connected. Even in the past reminiscence, often we have differing viewpoints — like separate movie screens focused on opposite frames within the same scene.
Connection, to me, is illusive. It’s layered — like a bolt of gauzy cloth. I can see every layer, but cannot differentiate them. They are connected, yet separate. And I am wrapped up in it all.
As a sensitive soul and an abstract mind, I long for connection. For definition in connection. For connecting to tell me who I am, what I am worth.
My memory lurches forward, “I remember being there,” I say. What I mean is, I can see it in my mind. Memory based on visuals. But I connect to the emotion, the thought, the idea of the memory. It is unfocused and complex. And it often builds a picture of my past-life that is inaccurate. My mind building within the blank spaces — an innate desire to smooth out the gauzy fabric of my mind, to create a foundation structured on a rich black timeline, to connect myself back together again.
And even as I reach back, to re-connect, to rediscover old connections that rationalized reality then, I am still anchored in this moment: My fingers touching the smooth plastic keys, my wrists resting on the edge of the computer, my mouth moving slightly with the words.
Even now, I am still connecting.