Sometimes, I really do want to just sit down and write what’s on my heart. No filters. No editing. Just the thoughts that come to mind in their raw form, or lack thereof.
However, I find that this is not really possible for publishing blogs. I care too much about what others think. So many blog posts sit in my Drafts folder, edited and ready to publish, but I will never hit that blue button. Is it pure fear, that keeps me from publishing, or is it a genuine sense of propriety and politeness?
“Just write,” they say.
“Tell it like it is,” they admonish.
“To hell with what anyone else thinks!” they shout, with fists held high, the hearts of those they care about trampled on the ground in the dust, broken by words more effectively than sticks and stones wielded in skilled hands ever could.
I just now deleted a line I started, because I didn’t know how to finish it. It didn’t sit right with me, so I left it. What next?
It’s not as easy as it sounds, though it appeals to me. I am so wrapped up in cloaks of propriety. I want too badly for people to like me. To look up to me and admire me.
I have recently realized that there is only one person on this entire planet with whom I have true intimacy, and that is Levi. No one else comes close. I don’t believe in soul mates. At least, not in the traditional sense of the word. I have chosen Levi to be the mate to my soul, and therefore, he is the only one I have ever allowed to see the real, raw, unvarnished Me. I cannot hide from him. He has sent loving tendrils and shoots into every corner of my spirit, explored my ridiculous mess of a heart, and found me to be worth loving anyway.
I don’t have room for anyone else in there. Not very many make it past the surface anyway. It’s not their fault. I have discovered that I have a lot of security measures to keep people out. Even I am not sure what all of them are. I wonder how many would want to come in when they find that I am just as broken, hurting, and inexperienced at life as any other 30-something. When they find that the special something they thought they saw in me wasn’t really there after all.
Sometimes, I can’t even tell what is real in me and what isn’t.
When there are so many voices, from so many directions, pulling at me. Digging claws into me and tugging with all their strength. “Go this way! It will make you feel better!”
“What do I care about feeling better? I want to be better!”
Just write. It’s not as easy as it sounds, yet here I sit. Typing. No plan. Nothing to say, yet saying something anyway.
Speaking from a place of pain. Today, anyway. What if I “just wrote” tomorrow? Would I be speaking from joy, contentment, anger, peace, sadness, imagination, creativity, or melancholy?
I have no idea.
Either way, here goes nothing.
Grace & Peace,
PS: This post is the first “assignment” for Writing 101 at WordPress. I’m just trying to work and improve my writing habits. Couldn’t hurt, right?