Gratitude for Writing...

Writing is an affliction as much as it is an art...

I think I started my first journal when I was 8 or 9.  I can’t remember, I should look, because I have them up in my attic.  Somehow through all the years, they remained important enough to keep, carry and store.  I haven’t read them as an adult, I am sure they will prove repetitive (mad at my dad, worried, anxious, that boy, this boy, boys!).  But I should really dig them out and take a look.  I have a feeling they will feel like I am reading someone else’s journal.  That is how much I feel like I have changed since then.  I can barely remember or relate to that young girl with so much to say she just had to write it down.

I spent my childhood reading and writing.  As an only child, there was a lot of down time and since my parents were avid readers, it was kind of "if you can’t beat them, join them" situation.

Even way back then the writing was about confession, prayer and processing.  I saw writing as a way to purge all the shit that swirled in my heart and head.  I needed to get it out so that I could get a little distance from it, a better perspective. Bleed off all the me that I always seemed to have too much of...

And here I am doing it again, still all these years later.

I still find an immense amount of safety in the written word.  As a kid, I felt scared and reluctant to share myself with others.  I was fine with the superficial, and did it ok, but the deeper stuff, the harder, more real shit, was stuff I just kept on lock down.

So about 8 years ago when I started this blog, you can imagine that after a veritable lifetime of writing things only for myself, never sharing what I wrote or thought, I had a very big reaction to actually sharing what I wrote.  I started on a book 25 years earlier and I never let anyone read it.  Now I have let a couple, but I am still struggling with putting it out into the world.

I was at an impasse, I wrote all this shit down, and it helped me, but I began to feel like I can’t be the only one who feels this way, who has these thoughts, these feelings, these issues, these struggles.  I can’t be the only one.  And then, once that landed, a small, quiet voice, began “you should share this with others, lest they suffer...”  And for a good year, I ignored that voice.  I was too busy, what did I have to say that others couldn't say better?  Why me?  I did not want to be vulnerable.

But writing provides its own shield. It is vulnerability with a little space and I love writing for that. I can be honest, but you are removed from my immediacy and that allows authenticity and safety to co-occur. If you were here, believe me when I say you would get less me, and more whatever it is I thought you wanted from me.

But the voice, while quiet, was unremitting.  It would not let up.  It cried out, “publish, publish, publish!”  Daily.  And so finally, with a lot of encouragement from my girlfriends at the time, I created Naked Random Thoughts.  I was terrified to show up, to be me, to be real.  What if no one read it?  What if everyone did?  Honestly, I can tell you I was more afraid that everyone would.  Then I would be known, then I would be exposed.

And neither fear really came to pass.  Some people read it.  Some people don’t.  I do not make any money out of the site, I never tried to.  NRT is an offering.  A port in a storm, if you struggle with pretty much anything, there has to be one of my blog posts out there that addresses the issue in one form or another.

It has become my becoming.  It stretched me and grew me into this woman that writes this today.  This version of me.  She evolved from thousands upon thousands of words etched on the screen, and then shared with all of you.  Simple really.  It is an ongoing confession for all those things we all feel like we should never, ever share.

Well, I think we should.  Share.  All the things.  The hurt, the passion, the longing, the ache, the shattered remnants of our promise and youth, the fear, the disquieting thoughts that are pervasive and loud, the healing that comes from one human understanding another.

And so I am immensely grateful for writing.  My own words as much as those of others.  I am always reading and writing.  And I hope that never stops.  I hope that never changes.  I hope that as I age, I write more and read more.  I hope that words, written and spoken remain one of the most important things in my life.

I have found salvation in the words and thoughts of others.  And I have found respite and understanding in my own.  I am not a poet, or a literary scholar, even though I have read many of those who are.  I do not wax descriptive, my style more direct and to the point.  I am, I hope a teller of truth.  For myself and perhaps for you, perhaps my words express what you struggle to.  I pray that everything I put out is helpful to someone else, anyone else.  I give without conditions, expectation or financial gain.  This is just what I think, believe and feel, for fun and for free.

Writing saved me.  It has always given me a place to get it out because, for me, keeping it in felt like holding a poison that would kill me swiftly.  Writing is bleeding out the toxic parts of me.  It is a bloodletting, in its most curative form.  Sometimes I write something and someone highlights it back to me and I can see the Divinity in what I wrote.  Writing every morning occurs in some sort of fugue state, sometimes drifting off while my fingers continue to tap out some message from my soul.

I am grateful for the words, the blog, for readers and commenters.  I am grateful to have a place to put all the parts of me I am trying to assimilate.  I am grateful for the outlet and the place to process all that threatens to rip me to shreds otherwise.

I offer it to you, as an amend, an honesty, a gift.  Take what you like and leave the rest.  I am going to keep going because this writing practice I do almost every day is how I stay true to me and I guess, in some way, to you.

Words can offer salvation.  Words can destroy.  And I have used them in both ways.  However, this daily blog is about sharing all that I am: broken, lost, healing, hilarious, riotous, forgiving, expecting, desperate, fearing, loving and consumed to whomever should be interested and has a few minutes to spare.

Thank you for receiving me, for bearing witness to my journey.  May something I share be of maximum service to you.

Again, still...

Always.

I am grateful for

Getting out of the house

The Sunday meeting

Deya maybe moving to Ojai!

Laughter

Lunch with Jeff

Grace being ok

New books

Dinner with Elizabeth

My spirit

Cats

God

Talks with my mom