changing direction
November 19th, 2010 § 2 Comments
This post is because of Erin, a woman I’ve never met. Her words reminded me of a need that I’ve tried to ignore into nonexistence. But the need did not go away even when I starved it. Even when I denied it, turned my back on it. I can’t even say what the need is perhaps because I’ve not spent enough time with it to hear its name or feel its shape. But it pulls me when I come in contact with certain things. And Erin’s words are consistently one of those things.
I haven’t written anything here for over three years. The plan then was to explore what writing is, what it means, how it works. I hoped to look at it in some kind of intellectual way and get answers for questions I’d been asking for a long time. For a few different reasons, the quest buried me and I let my unexamined fears keep me still and nearly suffocated.
I just now reread several of the entries here. There aren’t many. One of the reasons I stopped writing was a fear of inadvertently revealing myself, of showing the world (all zero of my readers) something too personal. And at the same time realizing that that fear held me back from reaching my main goal of cutting through the bullshit and showing something real and honest. I was afraid of accidently baring any dullness or ugliness or woundedness in public that I had already refused to look at in private.
So.
Fear keeps me from myself because it makes me go in the wrong direction, away from life, away from feeling anything intensely, away from accepting the dull, the ugly and the wounded parts of me. And then I also lose my strength and joy and resilience because they are all of a piece. I can’t claim one without taking them all. Erin’s writing reminds me how exhilarating it can be to move in the direction of life and that having the answers and having understanding are not at all the same thing. The first one stops the journey cold and the second one leads further and further onward.
So, thank you Erin. I still don’t know what writing is, what it means or how it works but I understand a wee bit more because of you.
And so irony carries us, as I thank you, for what is anything if it is not witnessed? what is a chair, a flower, a person, a life, anything written, if not witnessed? it is nothing until it is seen, picked up, used. i am nothing without the likes of you.
You write this, “I was afraid of accidently baring any dullness or ugliness or woundedness in public that I had already refused to look at in private” and this is where I think I am made unlike most others. Robert and I talk and talk and talk of art and life and death and meaning and I try and try to understand, how I am, who I am, and how others are, and who they might be. For the life of me, it is not inside of my genetic makeup to hide. And this is an irony too, for when I was young I walked the halls in my highschool with large, large hair and my sleeves pulled down over my hands. I was physically living hidden. But this is life! And we have but one chance! And what is there to fear? We are judged daily even while we hide. We can not hide from judgement. And even when we hear no others, we judge ourselves. Should we hide from ourselves? I can think of no other way than to live but as we are. I can think of no other way. This is our one chance. We will not figure it out if hidden. We will not feel it if we distance ourselves from even ourselves. I believe that somehow, if we can all admit that we are essentially the same, if we can admit that we are ALL vulnerable and aching, then perhaps we will learn to not judge each other, and even be somewhat gentler with ourselves.
Writing, I think, should be this. Writing should be the pealing back. Perhaps I have it wrong, but it is all that I am.
I am so grateful for you and for this.
Let’s begin~
xo
erin
Yes, yes.
I have to say that since I posted this I’ve had an uneasy feeling, something I can’t name yet. But perhaps uneasy is ok. My first reaction was , What have I done? I’ve stepped into my fear. I have engaged what I’m afraid of. Run away.
But I think it is only the changing of a habit. A life habit, a way of seeing, a paradigm that doesn’t work anymore.
I am amazed that there are people like you that would take the time to respond to what I write, to think these things are important enough and yet that is the type of person I am too. I haven’t let that part of me show herself often but she is real. So why am I surprised at your generous spirit? I think this is the flip side to what you said about admitting we are essentially the same – the beauty and courage that is one of us is also in all of us.
Thank you so much Erin.
Donna