Quotidian Observations

Dear Readers,

As a person who plays around with the title of "writer," I find the idea of wanting that label requires me to fulfill certain requisites. While I could provide a laundry list of what I and more experienced writers believe what-constitutes-a-writer, I want to dwell on one: the quotidian.

As a writer one must always be on the look out for the ordinary and how to turn those ordinary observations into the extraordinary. This, I guess, was always an innate ability of mine--to seek out minutiae. Often, I would stare out of the car window on long road trips saying nothing, taking in long pollution ridden whiffs of the post-industrial landscape of Western Pennsylvania, sometimes bringing worry to my relatives. On one such incident, I did not say one word to my Aunt Cheri on an hour-long voyage to Pittsburgh. My aunt called my mom immediately as we arrived to her house asking her if "little Danny is all right. He didn't say a single word to me on the way down. Do you think he is depressed?" I was three.

I learned slowly that talking is also a requisite for normal social interaction in a vehicle. But tonight, as I wrote my University of Pennsylvania grad school essay, detailing my interest in environmental studies, I remembered my nascent proclivity toward sustainability in grade school and high school. As an environmental club member, not a particularly popular club selection as a budding basketball star, I remembered planting dogwood trees (with my crush at the time, romantic eh) in a green space in our public high school parking lot. I drove up there, maybe in a narcissistic state (derek could analyze this situation better than I) or out of hope the dogwoods would be taller than me by now, and found they removed the green space for more parking spaces. I was frankly indifferent, Laurel Highlands being a school never close to my heart, but it made me think on the way home about how important these small, seemingly normal moments are in life.

• planting a tree at your nepotism-ridden former high school

• the no outlet sign cemented-in at the end of your home's lane (a symbolic gesture of Uniontown social life)

• one of the largest crosses in the world constructed on the Chestnut ridge mountain, noticeable from five miles away as I pass the no outlet sign (a symbol too of my distant, but still shimmering spiritual life)

• wondering why my monster trail mix from Target has an inordinate ratio of raisins to "good shit" (Damn you Archer Farms. Your satisfaction guaranteed is a marketing ploy.)

Not to say we should read into everything in our routine day-to-day, but be on the lookout for the shoe hanging over the electric wire, the mitten smooshed into the sidewalk, what your hometown is famous for (ours is the home of the Big Mac). What does the quotidian mean? Sometimes nothing, but sometimes a lot, so be observative, but don't get caught up in noticing the arrangement of box stores that you forget to talk with your friends and family.

Goforth and See,

Daniel Webster Jr.