Light

"The search for lightness is a reaction to the weight of living." --"Lightness" Calvino

We search for lightness, the sun, as a reaction to gravity--our own sense of weight. This would explain why I am so often clunky, over-aware of my heaviness, sink-ability. When I say I'm a "floater" it's a lie (not intentional, just not one I think about, usually).

One of my favorite phrases is "light weight." A jacket is light weight, the wrestler is light (lite) weight, the essay should be light weight--lingering like sunshine, remaining like necessary warmth, pinning you by the shoulders in a surprisingly powerful way. Light weight can also suggest a smallness (a marble, perhaps), but the word "weight" is steely, heavy even for a tiny sphere. Like "heft"--when I say the word I almost feel an obligatory grunt coming on with it.

I'd like my writing to be light weight: accessible but not excusable--not something easily ignored or forgotten. Perhaps I desire this because I want my life to be that way.