Saturday, July 16, 2011

I'm Holding Out On You ...

I'm in the mood to write. Sometimes, oftentimes, I am not in the mood to write, but sometimes I am in the mood to write and yet I feel as though I have nothing to say.

To wit, right now. I just started a blog post and gave up just a few sentences in because it wasn't real. I was concocting a post, not writing one. Stringing together words that didn't ring true. And if they don't ring true, what's the point in writing them? Writing doesn't count if it's fake. For me, anyway. James Frey might disagree.

Sometimes in my wanting-to-write-but-feeling-as-though-I-have-nothing-to-say moments, I think that my life must just be that uninteresting, that if I were to write about my day or week, I would have nothing but banalities to spew, and who wants to read another person's banalities? Most of us have plenty of our own.

But then another thought appears in my head, as just happened again a moment ago, and that thought is that I have plenty to say, I'm just wary to share it with you.

Why? Oh, you know. There's the fear of being judged. There's always the fear of being judged. Of disappointing. Of incurring an exasperated sigh. There's the sense that I should be further along on any given journey, that everyone else has figured out far more than me, that I must be missing some crucial gene because how can I be so smart yet so stunted?

But then yet another thought appears that says, "Beth, you know enough to know that you're not alone. You're not the only one in this place. You're not the only one to feel this way. And there's comfort in that, for you and for them. You feel relieved when you see yourself in another's words, that moment of 'Exactly! Yes!' So write what you have to write. Offer others that moment."

So here I am.

Well, kind of.

There are many things swirling about these days, many messages, many signs. Nudges, reassurances. The net is there.

It's like those very intricate locks in the movies, many moving parts that must all fit together exactly to open or close. All of those pieces are coming together. Finally. And I feel the need to write it all down. To capture it. To see all of the pieces mesh. It feels too fleeting otherwise. Like it might evaporate or the window will close or the moment will pass and I'll have missed it.

But no. I can't miss it. It's here. I know it's here. I just have to pull it all together and take the next step.

I'll let you know how it goes.


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