I haven't written much in the way of serious stuff in this blog. I've touched on things a little, but apart from from Verizon rants, I've avoided drama. There are several reasons for this:
-- I find it hard to write about serious things without falling into cliches. There's a big difference between deep thoughts and thoughts felt deeply. Someone may truly mean the words, "I love you/ I will be true," but that doesn't mean they have to put it out there for the world to see, and it certainly doesn't guarantee that anyone will want to read it. I also find it harder to tell whether something is written well when I'm not trying to be funny. If I make myself laugh, then I figure it will make other people laugh, too. But if I'm crying when I write it, it may just be because I'm going through something, and not because I've written something meaningful, or written it with skill.
-- Who wants to hear somebody whining all the time? Even if they write great poems about their pain, or make classic cinema, don't you ever just want to tell some people to shut up already? I don't want anyone to look at my blog or anything else I've written and roll their eyes and say, "Get over yourself and move on!"
-- It's just scary to put yourself out there without any kind of buffer. Humor is a buffer. Being on stage performing someone else's work is a buffer. Even having different kinds of conversations with different groups of people in your life is a buffer. That doesn't mean these things aren't genuine, but they enable you to be selective with what you share and how. I don't know how many people read this blog (2-3?), but I've invited a very wide spectrum to view it -- not just wide in tastes and opinions, but wide in relationship to me. Getting serious would mean letting people see parts of myself that I haven't necessarily revealed to them in person, which could be just as awkward for them, if not more so, than it would be for me. I don't want to scare anybody.
On the other hand, I've often thought that if, after I die, someone stumbles across my many, many journals and is nosy enough to read them, they could be really encouraged -- not because I have any wisdom to offer, but because I'm a mess. I find little inspiration and much annoyance in works that are meant to be inspirational, because it's always about people overcoming and doing nice things and love conquering and blah, blah, blah. I read that stuff and think, Great, that's all fine for them, but what if I don't have that kind of will power, or determination, or love for people, or confidence in myself, or any kind of conviction whatsoever? What if I've lost whatever expectations I may have once had about things turning out OK? What if I don't know what I want anymore? Where's the Chicken Soup for the Soul That Doesn't Like Chicken Soup? That would be my journal. No answers. Just a lot of questions, some tear stains, words scribbled out, and the occassional reminder that God doesn't want me to be as afraid of Him as I usually am. And if I ever end up accomplishing anything, then people can say, Hey! If God can make something out of her, then I bet He can turn me into a freakin' Nobel Prize winner.
So, I might start tossing some sad stuff in there. I ask for your patience as I bushwhack my way through the cliches and try to reach something real, meaningful, and worthwhile.
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Wiser words rarely spoken. I don't mind sad stories, sometimes we all need a cry. For some of us, it doesn't change, though. I am still where you are. I can paint, I'm very good at it. I can waltz into my painting group and paint something fabulous. But, it lacks soul. I can paint from a photograph, with a style I might call my own, but it isn't exactly me. It doesn't stand out from any other good painter's work. I haven't figured out how to express myself. Mayber I should paint with glow-in-the-dark paints...
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