17 Responses

  1. Friko says:

    Before I was even half way through I thought: that’s one for me, when I can’t think of anything to blog about, like now. Good, I don’t even need to ask permission.

    Micro-moments-of-greater-significance, aren’t they what life is all about? Those moments when we turn an unexpected corner, when we learn the true nature of the person we trusted, when we do something for the first time, when a passage in a book provides sudden illumination on a problem we have battled for ever, etc.

    Thanks Jocelyn. Whatever became of your blog-writing-class?

    • Jocelyn says:

      I look forward to reading your post, Friko!

      The Writing for Social Media class ran last August-December and was great fun, with lots of blogging, tweeting, and updating. I will teach it again this upcoming fall. Thanks for asking!

  2. Erin says:

    I’m not ignoring your request…just still thinking.

  3. Choochoo says:

    I lay in bed, late one night, trying to think of a meaningful micro moment, and couldn’t come up with anything. Eventually, I started to think that maybe I’m mentally handicapped. Then my thoughts were interrupted by loud scraping noises from downstairs. I went to check. Turns out Pooch had somehow managed to drop a treat underneath the misters guitar amplifier, and was now trying to get it by smacking the amplifier as hard as she could. Retrieving the treat for a now ecstatic Pooch, I realised that I will alway be a great genius to someone out there.

  4. kmkat says:

    Well, there was the time when I hosted the post-party for everyone at my company after our annual Christmas party (~23 employees plus significant others; it was a holding company for other companies employing ~3,000 people; CEO was a prominent figure in Mpls business and society).

    Which micro-moment to describe? The one where Smokey built a fire in the fireplace in preparation for everyone arriving… and forgot to open the flue? The house filled with smoke, we had to open all the windows (this was mid-December in Mpls), and so everyone had to enjoy our post-party in their coats in our tiny back den, the only room with a door to close it off from the rest of the smokey house.

    Or should I mention that I had made mulled wine (although I hadn’t counted on there being that many people) in an early version of an Air Pot… and it erupted with hot red wine all over the controller of the company?

    Or should I talk about how I had made snackies of crackers and cheese and prosciutto-wrapped melon slices and arranged them with loving care on the dining room table… and while we were all in the back den the cat sampled them and proceeded to hurl on the table from the richness of the fare? (And I wondered (me in the back den) why no one was partaking of my delicious snackies)

    My life is long enough that I have a nice backlog of micro-moments 🙂

  5. chlost says:

    May I also do this as a blog post? It will take me a while to put this together in my mind. I love yours. I didn’t know you were from Montana. As we drive to Glacier in the summers, we pass so many teensy tiny rural towns which are no more than a few grain elevators along the railroad. I wonder how different our children’s lives-and ours-would have been had they grown up there. A different world.

    • Jocelyn says:

      I would be beyond delighted if you did do it in a post. There’s something about the accumulated power of random moments that introduces us to each other in whole new ways, eh?

  6. lime says:

    micro-moments of greater significance. i think you have given me fodder for a blog post that shall be a more positive read than the furious screed i was envisioning. i believe i shall do that.

  7. lime says:

    it’s up now. on a different day i may have shared different moments but for today, these are what came to mind.

  8. ilyanna says:

    I didn’t quite achieve a marrative arc like you, but I did manage to find a few moments to share. I’d love to take your class some day *sigh*

  9. Maria says:

    I worry about things way too much. Like…yesterday…my partner and I went to a park by our home and while she jogged, I sat at a picnic table soaking up the sun near the playground where I used to take my daughter. I looked up, saw some lovely trees and began taking photos of them with my cell phone. Then, I started thinking that people would think I was creepy, one of those people who go to parks and take photos of children who aren’t their own. So, I sent texts to several people and waxed poetic about trees. I worried that people would think I was pretending to text, but secretly taking photos of their children, so I put the phone away, picked up the book I brought and pretended to read. I did this while several shutterbugs around me were happily taking nature photos. What the hell is wrong with me?

  10. Lil says:

    I read your post the other day. I’ve been thinking and thinking of this, and I can’t find a single thing. I’ll try to think some more.

  11. Bone says:

    I’ve always wanted to work in one of those big buildings.

    There are actual animal parts in Spam? I’m impressed.

    A couple of moments came to mind right off. I was twenty-two the first time I saw the ocean. I squinched my toes into the sand, and knew that this was someplace I’d always want to be.

    I was seven. Dad woke me at 1 in the morning. Mom was having a baby. I puked in the waiting room garbage can. I had a sister. Now, I wouldn’t trade her for anything. But for the first fifteen years or so of her life, I may have occasionally had other thoughts.

    “Once I ran to you… ooo ooo… now I run from you…”

  12. I have done variants on this, usually organized under a theme but sometimes more random. But since my mind often works in micro-moments, I’ll tackle this one over the weekend.

  13. actonbell says:

    That’s a great exercise, but no fair, you’ve lead an interesting life and write too well!

    I didn’t know ferrets were so–friendly.

  14. Jess says:

    Two recent micro-moments stand out:

    I’m at the park, sitting on a blanket eating fresh strawberries with my husband while the kids play on the playground. We’ve just been to the farmer’s market and the library (blissfully located right next to each other on a gingko-lined street downtown) and I have a pile of unread books waiting for me like a pile of mysterious wrapped gifts on Christmas morning. It’s spring in the central valley and the weather is perfect. I am not nauseous or in any other form of pregnancy-induced discomfort. Life is good.

    It’s evening and the kids are in bed. The kitchen I spent too much time cleaning today is trashed again from dinner preparations. Our tiny apartment feels like a prison. I can’t help feeling panicky about how we’re going to fit a baby into it when we barely have space ourselves. i suddenly realize that my light at the end of the tunnel- my husband’s rejoining the army when he finishes school so we’ll have an income and be able to afford a house and a move out of this valley where I have no family or friends- will involve his being sent to OCS for three months, leaving me alone with probable postpartum depression, a newborn and two school-aged kids. For Three Months. I am going to die.

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