{"id":1609,"date":"2026-10-12T16:53:31","date_gmt":"2026-10-12T16:53:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/?p=1609"},"modified":"2026-10-12T16:53:32","modified_gmt":"2026-10-12T16:53:32","slug":"the-marvelous-margins","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/?p=1609","title":{"rendered":"The Marvelous Margins"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

On Meaning, Mischief, and Knowing When to Exit the Stage<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I recently watched an interview with Anne Carson, a woman whose intellectual curiosity seems matched only by her reluctance to explain herself. I was immediately intrigued. Here was an unassuming writer seemingly uninterested in occupying the center of her work, preferring instead to linger in the margins, where attention and distraction coexist, and meaning isn\u2019t necessarily handed to the reader neatly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She seems comfortable holding tension rather than resolving it, allowing contradictions to remain contradictions and trusting the reader to notice what isn\u2019t said. What a refreshing departure from our modern insistence on explaining everything, including ourselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It got me thinking about the peculiar theater of being human, which I question daily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We arrive without a script, spend decades trying to understand our own character, develop elaborate opinions about everyone else\u2019s performance, and eventually discover that much of life\u2019s wisdom is knowing when to stop directing the entire production. I recently retired from this position, and it feels freeing. Why did it take me so long? I ask myself now, of course.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I have concluded that we want to be understood but resist being predictable. Humans are exhausting and contradictory. I include myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We crave certainty yet grow restless without surprise. We want to be understood yet resist predictability. We seek belonging while fiercely guarding our independence. We contemplate mortality, only to become disproportionately annoyed when someone takes too long at the grocery checkout or drives too slowly in front of us on the freeway (maybe that is just me!).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What a magnificent, inconsistent cast of characters we are. As I keep living into life, I am beginning to think maturity isn\u2019t about resolving these contradictions but about learning to live more elegantly with them. And perhaps nowhere is that more apparent than in the people we allow onto our stage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve come to recognize that not everyone deserves a speaking role in my life. Some people are protagonists; others are supporting characters. Some appear for a single scene, deliver something memorable, and then disappear before the second act. A few, frankly, should never have made it past auditions. My trouble began when I kept rewriting someone\u2019s part because they appeared in our opening act.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Family, friendship, history, obligation. These can be remarkably persuasive reasons to cast. We can convince ourselves that longevity guarantees relevance, that shared history demands continued access, or that someone who once held a central role must remain there indefinitely. But people don\u2019t always evolve alongside us. Some repeat the same lines, miss the same cues, and seem genuinely surprised when the audience stops applauding. Amen!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For years, I thought understanding someone\u2019s behavior meant I should keep accommodating it. I could explain their limitations, trace their motivations, and even sympathize with the circumstances that shaped them. But I learned the hard way that understanding isn\u2019t the same as granting unlimited access. And my compassion doesn\u2019t require a lifetime subscription to someone else\u2019s performance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s an important distinction between removing someone from the stage and wishing them ill. I appreciate their place in my history without giving them a permanent role in my present, and I acknowledge their earlier actions without agreeing to another season.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That isn\u2019t spitefulness but discernment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After listening to several interviews with Carson, I see another possibility in her fascination with the margins. Perhaps I don\u2019t need to occupy center stage either. The freedom comes not from directing everyone else\u2019s behavior but from stepping away from the production altogether. From letting go of the exhausting responsibility to interpret every gesture, anticipate every line, and hope the next scene finally unfolds differently. Amen, again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can simply observe, or even better, turn my attention elsewhere, to the world beyond the theater, because life, when we\u2019re paying attention, is wonderfully strange, as I keep noticing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We are bizarrely conscious collections of atoms capable of contemplating eternity while wondering what to make for dinner. We spend astonishing amounts of time rehearsing for a life already underway, waiting to become wiser, more confident, more accomplished, or somehow more deserving of the experience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Meanwhile, the orchestra of life has been playing and will continue for decades, and nobody knows the choreography; some simply wear more convincing expressions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve begun to suspect that curiosity is a better measure of aging than the number of birthdays behind us. The person who believes they\u2019ve seen everything has, in an essential way, grown older than the person who still wakes up wondering what peculiar thing the world might reveal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Having traveled widely, written countless stories, encountered extraordinary people, and collected enough experiences to fill several lifetimes, I’m fascinated not only by what I\u2019ve done but also by the astonishing fact that I\u2019m here to experience any of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps the great achievement of a well-lived life isn\u2019t becoming someone extraordinary but remaining astonished by the ordinary. Watching the light shift from bright to dark as the sun sets. Having a conversation that wanders somewhere unexpected yet remains deeply heartfelt. A glass of divine wine enjoyed without occasion. A ridiculous laugh with my husband and sons at a family dinner, or a quiet afternoon with Bossa Nova playing, asking nothing of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not every day requires a revelation; some days can simply be low-key and lovely. I believe that\u2019s what I find most appealing about Carson\u2019s willingness to leave meaning in the margins. She reminds me that I don\u2019t have to explain every contradiction, resolve every relationship, or position myself at the center of every story. I can leave certain questions unanswered, certain characters offstage, and certain endings unwritten.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After all, my little theater occupies a fraction of the world, and I have no intention of spending the rest of my life watching a performance I\u2019ve already seen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her name appeared on my phone. I watched it light up the white marble counter in the kitchen, then returned to slicing a lemon.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

On Meaning, Mischief, and Knowing When to Exit the Stage I recently watched an interview with Anne Carson, a woman whose intellectual curiosity seems matched only by her reluctance to explain herself. I was immediately intrigued. Here was an unassuming writer seemingly uninterested in occupying the center of her work, preferring instead to linger in […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1610,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9,39,66,57,28],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1609","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-creativenonfiction","category-inspiration","category-life-living-essay","category-personal-reflective-narrative","category-writing"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1609","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1609"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1609\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1611,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1609\/revisions\/1611"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1610"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1609"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1609"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1609"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}