I keep mentioning how I haven’t written anything in a long time, but I haven’t included without any real reasoning as to why.
Although I’ve thought about it quite a lot recently, the answer wasn’t especially apparent to me until last week.
I mean, c’mon- nothing like a $10 palm reading from a strange psychic to clear everything up, right?
The realization I came to is this:
I’ve always slipped into the whole ‘tortured artist’ box a little too easily.
What I mean is that most of my writing thrives in the wake of tragedy or hardship.
The words come up and out almost effortless when I’m processing a difficult turn of events.
Which, to an extent, makes sense.
It’s a great way to heal.
On the other hand, it would also be nice for this same creative expression to exist even when life is going smoothly.
I’m not quite sure what it is, but I think deep down I almost find it somewhat boring to drone on and on about how wonderful things are going, as opposed to the sharing the deep and dark details of pain.
I think there’s also a part of me that feels a bit guilty about this notion, as well.
How fucked up is that?
Why should I feel guilty about creating such a unique and powerful lifestyle?
Why should I feel guilty about my unwavering confidence in the fact that I’m finally walking the path crafted for me, and me alone?
Sounds a little crazy, right?
Yeah, I agree.
But, here’s the thing.
I’m pretty sure this guilt comes from a place of not wanting to brag, or show off, or have that whole LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME thing going on.
Although, this mentality doesn’t really make much sense either.
Because writing about loss, abuse, and sorrow is a helluva lot more vulnerable than sharing all sunshine and rainbows.
Which means that these grievances will undoubtedly bring on the spotlight much more so than snippets of an ordinary day, or stories about how perfectly everything is aligning, right?
The point of this post, and many hereafter, is to break this mindset of guilt.
To break this pattern of only offering words which are born from anguish.
This is my public declaration to recommit to my writing practice.
To disclose everyday ramblings, adversities, and triumphs, alike.
And to figure out why the hell I’m more comfortable writing in the dark, than in the light.
Am I afraid to be fully happy?
Or, maybe it’s not fear- maybe the resistance is a defense mechanism, building walls around my heart to prevent it from cracking again.
And, maybe writing about it makes it all a little too real.
Makes it all sound a little too good to be true.
I think it’s a combination of all these elements- fear, defense, and reality.
This is why I’m giving myself permission to just BE.
Feel free to come along for the ride.