I paved space for literally whatever I wanted to write about, but here I am, in this space that I created, literally quaking in my boots about actually putting words into it. The worst part is that it feels like a trap I set for myself. I decided I was going to write a blog, and I told a few of my friends about it. Then I made a brunch date with a blogger friend, and we talked about blogging, and the conversation was so dang good that I walked away feeling like I'd accomplished enough that I didn't need to start the actual writing until tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month.
And just like that, my largest source of excitement - a thing I entered into out of pure desire, committed to by way of social accountability - became a thing burdened by expectation. An expectation that I did not fulfill. And so I shrank from it. With shame.
It's at times like these that essentials come back with awful clarity - as in a conversation with my blogger friend where she said that the most important thing being that you write - which was something I both nodded my head vigorously to while mentally filing it away under the (duh) category at the time. My inner pompous self answered this call to work with, Of course writing is the most important thing; isn't that what a blog is for? I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS, IT WILL NOT BE A PROBLEM.
The fact of the matter is that, even though I consider myself a writer, I do not write. It's part of the reason why I decided that this, here, now, was the right thing to do. I have many loves, and when your interests are so divergent it can be difficult to find the specificity of mind to compose anything that is little more than nonsense.
The reason that a blog is necessary for me is that I write differently when I write for an audience. I had to stop keeping personal journals because every time I came back to them days or weeks later, they read as little more than cryptic drivel. While a psychoanalyst might have a heyday with that, it just hasn't been good enough for me. In order for writing to do for me what I need it to, I need a space where I am forced to stay organized by stringing words together in arrangements that order and lend meaning to the things happening in my life.
The reason that a blog is necessary for me is that I write differently when I write for an audience. I had to stop keeping personal journals because every time I came back to them days or weeks later, they read as little more than cryptic drivel. While a psychoanalyst might have a heyday with that, it just hasn't been good enough for me. In order for writing to do for me what I need it to, I need a space where I am forced to stay organized by stringing words together in arrangements that order and lend meaning to the things happening in my life.
I would like to tempt fate by proclaiming here and now that I have written my way through the great obstruction, and that it's going to be all peaches from here. But I know myself better than that. All I can do is remind myself that the best way to lead myself through it is often the most overlooked way - being really unflatteringly honest about it. I have long had a conversation with myself about how I'd like to be a person without secrets - that is, I'd like to find a way to live in which I am able to be transparent. So now, I can notch this one under an experiment in digital transparency, and we will see if it takes.
xo,
Kirsten
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