Palimpsests

In recent years, I have been introduced to the concept of palimpsest. In its most literal sense, a palimpsest is a writing material that has been erased, then written over again. This was popular in ancient history, when writing materials were hard to come by. (I imagine it being like when you shake the Etch A Sketch to start over, but you can still see some of the old drawing.)

But palimpsest can be used in more metaphorical ways to describe things that have multiple layers. Lately I've been thinking a lot about palimpsests in my life.

My job situation is a palimpsest. My state boss is named Holly, and my other boss is named Reid. Reid is both my new boss and my old boss, since he first hired me ten years ago this month. Reid was one of my references for my state job, and when I started at the state last March, Holly told me that Reid said I was a serious runner. Then just this week, Holly told me that Reid said I wouldn't accept any treat. I was surprised Holly would remember that a year later—but also, if they were talking about my running and eating habits, what other nonwork things are they saying about me? (Of course, I had to clarify to Holly that I only eat holiday-themed treats.)

(Speaking of holiday-themed treats, recently my parents found an old gingerbread mix that someone had gifted them years ago, and they wanted to use it up. It's not gingerbread season, but I made it seasonal by making heart-shaped cookies and cinnamon candy frosting. The gingerbread was OK, but the frosting was amazing! I didn't plan it this way, but I suppose the cookies are a palimpsest of sorts—Christmas cookies with a Valentine's setting.)

In my profession, we use a lot of palimpsests. Historians use both primary and secondary sources, but sometimes a source can be both. For example: if I were writing about the pioneers and used a book from 1930, that would be a secondary source, because it came later, compiled of different sources. But if I were writing about the ways people remembered and talked about pioneers in the twentieth century, then that 1930 book would be a primary source.

Reid loves to publish a particular kind of palimpsest known as a documentary history. This is when you reprint a historical document with analytical materials, such as introductions and footnotes. I have worked on several documentary histories with Reid already, and that's what I'm doing for him now. It has been interesting to do this kind of work again. It's familiar, but now I have almost a decade of extra experience and education.

I also bought my own copy of a palimpsest, the newly published and annotated memoir of D. Michael Quinn. Signature Books hosted a panel for this book. Quinn was a gay Mormon historian, and since I am a gay Mormon historian, I thought I should go, especially since I had a friend on the panel. I talked to several people there whom I had met before: some people I talked to at the Peoples of Utah Revisited symposium last summer; my predecessor at my state job, whom I met in California; my friend on the panel, whom I met at a dinner last summer; and a professional who sat by me on a tour bus back in 2015.

I notice palimpsests in other aspects of my life as well. For example, recently I listened to all my "liked" songs on Spotify from the last ten years. There are songs I remember on the radio from 2007 ("Rehab" and "Young Folks") that I added to my collection in the mid-2010s. So those songs make me think about the era when I first heard them, but also about the time I added them to my "liked" songs. I like to think about layers of songs all the time. 

And I think of my whole life as a palimpsest. I think I am a very different person than I was when I was a teenager and even in my early twenties. I mean, hopefully this is true of everyone, but I think it's especially true in my case. Teenage Mark wouldn't have recognized this gay historical professional who minored in geology and regularly runs eleven miles (like I did yesterday). But there are still things that have always been the same: my quiet shyness, my adoration of holidays, and my diligence in academic matters.