I have been following a fashion blog recently and, in a way, I am jealous that she can have so much fun blogging about something so appealing and benign as fashion. Unfortunately, I have to blog tenderly and vulnerably and make myself nervous and afraid. But then, what is the point of doing anything if it is not meaningful?
I have always warred with the purpose of things. When I was younger, I thought about creating things but rarely did, because THEN what do you do with it? I always liked clothing because they seemed like more useful creations.
When I went to school for clothing design and designed my own line for the yearly fashion show, I knew clothing wasn't my calling either. I didn't feel like I added anything to the clothing world, and I wanted to do something with a greater purpose.
I guess my whole life has been spent searching for the place with the greatest purpose. A place where I could contribute something worthwhile. A place where I could make a difference.
Now I've started this blog.
I am not technologically savvy. I don't even know what an RSS feed is, let alone how to make mine work. But this blog is where I belong. I can grow and share with anyone who passes by. And yet at the same time, this is the scariest place for me. I don't know what I'm scared of, but I keep wanting to distract myself from writing.
I hope you, my readers, feel the intention and energy I put into this blog. Sometimes I'm so nervous about my feelings, I wonder if they get in the way of my writing.
I almost feel like I've created a talk radio show. At the end of the show I turn off the mike and leave the dark, quiet studio alone, wondering what difference today made. But I keep coming back because it is the only thing that makes sense.
I get comments here and there, "I heard you on the radio the other day..." "I really liked what you said." I nod, not knowing how else to respond. It feels good knowing people are listening, I know I have a few loyal followers, but since my readers are not a loud or boisterous lot, I don't know how many there are. But sometimes I wonder if I'm missing something. Or am I just in a strange, new place and expect it to feel differently? I don't know.
If I ranted about everything that is wrong with the world and how everyone who disagrees with me is an idiot, then I would probably feel the opposite way I'm feeling now. I would probably get into heated discussions with people in the grocery store, then blog about it the next day. My readers would be as boisterous and opinionated as me, leaving billions of comments a day, telling me how stupid and how awesome I am. I would attack each post with feverish passion and my blogging life would consume every other aspect of my life.
But this is a slow, peaceful, heartfelt blog, that sometimes makes me feel a tad exposed. And instead of attacking each post with feverish passion, I approach it slowly, walking sideways. What are we writing today? I don't know. I don't have words, just feelings. How do we put those feelings into words? I don't know, let's look at Facebook for a minute/hour. Good idea. We're going to come back eventually though, and unless we write honestly, there is no purpose. What will we do then? I don't know, that's why it's scary. Facebook. Facebook! The safety of distraction.
Sometimes my voice feels so quiet.