I approach this blog post with an accusatory air and the question:
“Since when has writing become the last resort for me?”
Growing up, when I wanted to assemble my sanity writing was my first “go to” place. It was my way of connecting with myself and sorting through my feelings. By the time I’d finished writing the process itself had brought me to a deeper place of connection with my inner being – although admittedly not always my “highest self” because often I came to my journal with a bee in my bonnet or, more realistically, a bug up my butt! – and the mental by-product was a delicious sense of clarity. The clarity informed my childhood/teen aged/young adult self, “This is how you feel!”, and hence, “This is who you are!”
Of course then I grew up, “got spiritual”, and learned that I am more than my transitory feelings and emotions. By then the world had changed so much that my emphasis on what I was now calling “self care” became more about getting out of isolation, and instead seeking connection.
A writer’s life, or should I say MY writer’s life, by it’s very nature, has had me planted in one place. The first journal I ever actually KEPT was the journal I wrote in my 13th year. (All those awful, terrible things I wrote down, and my inner young, budding critic subsequently tore up, from age 11 on didn’t count!) Writing meant holing up in my bedroom with a spiral bound notebook, and a series of pens that never worked, usually while weeping copiously, blathering about how no one understood me. (And why doesn’t this pen work either?)
Then I fell head over heels in love with technology and my computer became my new, very best friend. To hell with everyone else! My computer, my obedient little slave, understood me! So I became dedicated to understanding it. Computer geekery brought my love of writing to an entirely new level, and merrily down that rabbit hole I went.
Then holy smokes! You could actually “talk” to other people through a computer!? I kissed my first 300 baud modem passionately, and I was off and running. Writing? Yes, I was writing. I was writing dem E-eeeeeeeeemailz! Long, sensuous, involved e-mail exchanges now opened the window between me and the rest of the world.
Then in the late ’90’s while enjoying an après sex cigarette with Al Gore, he rolled over to put his socks on and said, “By the way, baby, did I tell you I invented the Internet today?” (Well, okay. That’s a lie. I was never much of a cigarette smoker.) That lead me to the addictive pleasures of online journaling. Wow! You mean I can spill my guts out in front of a relatively small audience of people and they’d actually LIKE what I have to say and we could, you know, like talk about what I said and stuff? Neat!
After that, for reasons I’ve still yet to grok, it was no longer cool to call online writing “journaling”, and instead you had to tell everyone you have a blog.
So, okay, here we are… Welcome to my BLOG!
When I tell people I have a blog it sounds like I have some leech-y, blood sucking fatal disease… “Help me! I have A BLOG!” At the bottom of all those outdated e-mails I still send, my signature line even says, “Subscribe to my blog!” It sounds like I’m walking around shaking a pencil cup and begging, “Trick or treat for Unicef! Help me cure this fatal disease! I’m an impoverished blogger! Please help!”
Side note to Self: If this is what I’m doing, I’m doing it all wrong since I don’t even have the obligatory, “Please, Sir!” PayPal begging bowl button on my blog. But… wouldn’t it be cool if I had a PayPal button on my blog that would make the sound of change shaking in a can every time someone tipped me? Hmmmmmmm… I digress…
I still refuse to call myself a “blogger”, however. It conjures up crane-shot images of George Costanza trying to get his Frogger arcade game across the street for me. Listen sister, I’m no lily pad jumping blogger!
SOCIAL MEDIA! Well! Now we’ve really arrived, haven’t we? I love social media mainly because it has all the benefits of instant connection without any of the hassles of me actually having to dress, put on make-up or get in my car to come and say hello to you. You and I can exchange witty cocktail banter at any hour of the day or night on Facebook, Twitter, or a myriad of other social networking time eaters while you sit around in your moth eaten undies and I squint at the screen held two inches from my face because my contacts are making my eyes red today and I had to take them out two hours ago.
Whatever juice I had for writing now seems to be poured into all these various red plastic party cups and at the end of the day I’ve got nothing left in the pony keg for myself! But today, through a series of other outer and inner events that I may or may not ever write about (*groan*) all of my original reasons for writing came back to haunt me like so many of Marley’s ghosts.
No, no, NO!
Yeah. Those guys.
It all leads me back here, where I haven’t uploaded anything since… ah… last year. So why should I write? And more importantly, I guess, is why should you READ what I write?
Well, you shouldn’t, really.
Leave. Leave now. Do not pass go, do not hit the non-existent tip jar on your way out, just RUN and don’t look back. Why ARE you reading this?
The reasons I write are:
1) It keeps me sane. It’s how I straighten out the crooked places in my head and how I soothe my heart when it hurts.
2) It connects me with all the different aspects of myself. My self with a small “s” and my Higher Self.
3) It feels good to share and connect with others and…
3) I crack me up!
Yes, Virginia, it’s true, my writing is ALL ABOUT ME! Because like or not, I’m doomed to be me for the rest of my life, so why not inflict share what’s within me with you?
And what’s been holding me back on this particular (*cough*) blog is an old belief that if I was my goofy, silly self here no one would ever take the side of me that that’s deeply spiritual seriously. But I say to you now, my friends, I sing it loud and proud that spirituality, sexuality and silliness can not only co-exist but they can thrive within us and enrich every single aspect of our lives across the board.
So now that I’ve exposed myself here and have made the decision to change up my game, I’m sure that means you can expect to see another post from me in… oh, another 4-6 months!
Alright, enough about me already. What about you? Do you write? Why? When? Where? Talk to me and feel free to pimp your blog, if you have one, in the comments section below.