Why "Presents"?

“One must choose a corner and cultivate that.” (Isabel Archer in The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James)

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present.” (Master Oogway in Kung Fu Panda)

“[Time’s] present is God’s present, and you should be that: present.” (“Be Present (Live from Catalyst Atlanta)” by Propaganda)

When I created this website in January 2017, seven years ago now, I gave it the name, “Robert Brown Presents.” There were two reasons for this.

First, the name is a nod to the show Alfred Hitchcock Presents. (This is also why my picture on the home page is in black-and-white cameo.) Similar to how that show was a way for the great director to share his favorite kinds of stories, this website is a way for me to share the things I’ve made or the things I care about. 

Second, ‘present’ is one of my favorite words in the English language, and I can summarize  much of my life philosophy just by expounding its different senses. Senses 1 and 2: We present presents to others. I want to live my life as a gift to God and neighbor, and make things I can offer as gifts. Senses 3 and 4: When we use the phrase “be present,” we mean presence in place and in the present time. So much of my creative work and so many of my thought projects are attempts to answer the essential question, “How should I live, here and now?” More pointedly, as a Christian on this side of glory, “How should I live in the tension of the already-not-yet?” (If these questions resonate with you, you might enjoy my poems “Yet,” “Ground,” and “Borgesian.”)

Broadly speaking, this is what “Robert Brown Presents” exists to do: to present presents—articles, Notebook posts, poems, songs, podcast episodes—that might help others be present. They’ve certainly helped me.

The Problem with Maps

From John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley in Search of America (Penguin, 2017):

“For weeks I had studied maps, large-scale and small, but maps are not reality at all—they can be tyrants. I know people who are so immersed in road maps that they never see the countryside they pass through, and others who, having traced a route, are held to it as though held by flanged wheels to rails” (23).

“There are map people whose joy is to lavish more attention on the sheets of colored paper than on the colored land rolling by. … Another kind of traveler requires to know in terms of maps exactly where he is pin-pointed every moment, as though there were some kind of safety in black and red lines, in dotted indications and squirming blue of lakes and the shadings that indicate mountains” (70).

And from Barry Lopez, Arctic Dreams (Vintage, 2000):

“In setting out, however, the traveler immediately confronts the problem of the map, an organization of the land according to a certain sense of space and an evaluation of what is important. I traveled everywhere with maps, no one of which was entirely accurate. They were the projection of a wish that the space could be this well organized. You cannot blame the maps, of course; nor can you travel without them. I was glad to pull them out of a pack or a back pocket and find clarification. … I knew that mixture of satisfaction and desire—to know exactly how one is situated in the vastness; and the wish to fully comprehend the space a map renders and sets borders to. But I would try to be wary. Even a good map, one with the lines and symbols of a handwritten geography on it, where [Yi-Fu] Tuan’s ‘spaces’ have been turned into ‘places,’ masquerades as an authority. What we hold are but approximations of what is out there. Neatly folded simulacra” (279-280).

That last phrase, “Neatly folded simulacra,” recalls Jorge Luis Borges’s one-paragraph short story, “On Exactitude in Science.” 

P.S. September 4: When I put these quotations by Steinbeck and Lopez together, I had no idea that Lopez was a Steinbeck fan and had once met him when attending summer camp with Steinbeck’s sons.