Forgive me Internet; it has been nine months since my last blog.
It hasn’t been writer’s block. I’ve started a least 20 blogs in my head, and have at least five almost complete ones saved on my computer.
And their have been hundreds of blog temptations – many of which sprouted up during election season. These are generally sparked by (mostly) immature reactions to Facebook posts, news clips, or bumper stickers I find to be ill informed. But I’m rarely sadistic enough to even begin writing these blogs, as I know they’ll cause more trouble than good.
But there have been plenty of big-girl ideas, the kind that might provoke productive conversation or at least produce a sense of being heard and understood thoroughly. And isn’t that what writing is really to achieve? The opportunity to explain one’s self without fear of being cut off by another’s response before you can finish, and to offer all your apologies and context and rebuttals before anyone has the chance to argue with you?
I’ve been feeling there should be more to it than that.
It is said that we don’t know anything until we know that we know nothing, and I’ve noticed at various levels of learning and accumulation of wisdom there are points along the way when your own naivety or lack of understanding become abundantly clear. And it seems I have reached one of those resting points along the path.
The last couple of years have been busy, challenging, and ambitious ones for me, and at times I’ve felt I’ve learned or realized so much in a day or a week that it would be a crime not to share that revelation with the world.
But the recurring revelations of the last nine months have all been a ditty from the same theme: I have so much to learn.
Often I wonder if there will ever be enough time to figure it all out. And I’m not talking all the chemistry and physics stuff, or even the environmental or mankind stuff. I’m talking about the me stuff. Will I ever get out of bed on time in the morning? Or feel confident raising my kid? Or keep my kitchen floor clean? Or not feel the need to pick at my cuticles? Why have I made bad decisions? Why do I continue to make bad decisions sometimes? Will I ever forgive myself for the friends I’ve wronged, the jobs I’ve quit, the time I’ve wasted?
Amidst all these questions, I don’t feel a sense of insecurity or fear, but rather one of hope. It is comforting to be in a place where I’m humble enough to face down my most monstrous demons with confidence and even light-heartedness.
Being humbler and more honest has also made me feel more connected to others, with a growing sense that we’re all figuring this out together and we actually need each other to figure ourselves out. I’ve been much more interested in what others have to say. What wisdom and hope might I find in their stories?
Thus, I haven’t been moved much to share my own story over the last nine months. And I’ve been flattered and inspired by how many people have inquired about my writing in that time. I haven’t missed writing because I have been writing. But I have missed sharing. And I’ve longed to write something bigger than myself.
I would like to write other people’s stories, and when appropriate incorporate my own story into them. Do you know someone who has a story that should be shared or that you think would be enlightening for me? Please comment and let me know!
Simply Happier 