Between the Lines
Inside my head, there has been the internal dialog going something like this: You can't handle the truth. Do you dare tell it? How much truth?
You can see, clearly, that I'm a tad psychotic. But that's not really the point of this post.
I can't help that, really. It is what it is, and this space here? Well, if it's not the most vividly arrogant bit of self-aggrandizement known to the modern world, then you can call me Uncle Jake. Which would be somewhat odd, seeing as it's not my name.
See how that 'distract-delay' thing works? Besides, I'm right. This is pure drivel, silly and stupid. Borderline disgusting.
But it's something else, too. An honest display of what goes through my mind.
Lately, this space has taken on a ethereal aura.
The truth is, lately, this space has begun to intimidate the hell out of me.
I'm not sure why, really. Or maybe I'm absolutely certain about the whys, but am unsure of the words to use to express it in a way that you - as someone living decidedly outside my head space - can understand. Words that you can read and think, "Ah. Yes. I totally get it."
I'm not sure those words exist. If they do, I'm quite sure I don't possess them.
The dare is to try anyway.
Because the truth is, it has come to be very important to me that you do get it.
The truth is, that is the reason this place has come to intimidate me, right down to my fingertips, paralyzing them before they can issue forth a single keyboard stroke.
When I started, it was a simple exercise in transferring my daily habit of writing in my journal from pen and paper to keyboard and computer screen. Nothing changed at first. I wrote the same things I always had, in much the same way. Letters to my girls, stories for safekeeping, random streams of consciousness, or odd snippets of thought. Joy and rage, love and hurt. My own peculiar perspective transcribed for all eternity. For spotting growth and spotting obstacles. For recognizing trends in my regular cycle and for uncovering issues, previously unknown, and so, unaddressed.
Journaling has always been a lifetime struggle for me.
People will read all that I have written some day and that made me want to be as honest as humanly possible in dissecting my life and times. Made me want to dig even deeper. Made me willing to pour more and more of my heart and soul out in words.
And lately, that's where this has become oh so different from my little coil bound cardboard journal with tumbles of words scratched across its unlined pages in blue ink.
I come to this place, knowing amazing people will float in and out of its existence, and I am stopped cold in the death grip of intimidation. Afraid that what I have to say today will not live up to an unspoken, but intensely felt, expectation. Afraid that whatever you think you saw in my words yesterday will never show itself again.
Afraid I will never live up to whatever it is I think you think I am, or am supposed to be.
So I begin to fidget, struggling to force words out anyway, clicking the publish button on posts that are less than me, and therefore less than honest.
The truth is, you didn't do this. You never set expectations that felt like constrictive restraints around my brain. I'm the idiot solely responsible for turning my own perceptions into a suffocating reality that never, really, was.
The truth is, this is not about you. The truth is, it speaks volumes about my own insecurities and over eager willingness to fall into the trap of performing, rather than just being.
The truth is, that is never what this was intended to mean. The truth is, my own warped sense of self turned it into that, despite every good intention to fight against it.
Do I dare quit tap dancing, to the beat of a non-existent drum?
I dare to try.
And that's the truth.
The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.
~ Friedrich Nietzsche
Youth is like spring, an over praised season more remarkable for biting winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.
~ Samuel Butler
And remember, no matter where you go, there you are.
~ Confucius
You can see, clearly, that I'm a tad psychotic. But that's not really the point of this post.
I can't help that, really. It is what it is, and this space here? Well, if it's not the most vividly arrogant bit of self-aggrandizement known to the modern world, then you can call me Uncle Jake. Which would be somewhat odd, seeing as it's not my name.
See how that 'distract-delay' thing works? Besides, I'm right. This is pure drivel, silly and stupid. Borderline disgusting.
But it's something else, too. An honest display of what goes through my mind.
Lately, this space has taken on a ethereal aura.
The truth is, lately, this space has begun to intimidate the hell out of me.
I'm not sure why, really. Or maybe I'm absolutely certain about the whys, but am unsure of the words to use to express it in a way that you - as someone living decidedly outside my head space - can understand. Words that you can read and think, "Ah. Yes. I totally get it."
I'm not sure those words exist. If they do, I'm quite sure I don't possess them.
The dare is to try anyway.
Because the truth is, it has come to be very important to me that you do get it.
The truth is, that is the reason this place has come to intimidate me, right down to my fingertips, paralyzing them before they can issue forth a single keyboard stroke.
When I started, it was a simple exercise in transferring my daily habit of writing in my journal from pen and paper to keyboard and computer screen. Nothing changed at first. I wrote the same things I always had, in much the same way. Letters to my girls, stories for safekeeping, random streams of consciousness, or odd snippets of thought. Joy and rage, love and hurt. My own peculiar perspective transcribed for all eternity. For spotting growth and spotting obstacles. For recognizing trends in my regular cycle and for uncovering issues, previously unknown, and so, unaddressed.
Journaling has always been a lifetime struggle for me.
People will read all that I have written some day and that made me want to be as honest as humanly possible in dissecting my life and times. Made me want to dig even deeper. Made me willing to pour more and more of my heart and soul out in words.
And lately, that's where this has become oh so different from my little coil bound cardboard journal with tumbles of words scratched across its unlined pages in blue ink.
I come to this place, knowing amazing people will float in and out of its existence, and I am stopped cold in the death grip of intimidation. Afraid that what I have to say today will not live up to an unspoken, but intensely felt, expectation. Afraid that whatever you think you saw in my words yesterday will never show itself again.
Afraid I will never live up to whatever it is I think you think I am, or am supposed to be.
So I begin to fidget, struggling to force words out anyway, clicking the publish button on posts that are less than me, and therefore less than honest.
The truth is, you didn't do this. You never set expectations that felt like constrictive restraints around my brain. I'm the idiot solely responsible for turning my own perceptions into a suffocating reality that never, really, was.
The truth is, this is not about you. The truth is, it speaks volumes about my own insecurities and over eager willingness to fall into the trap of performing, rather than just being.
The truth is, that is never what this was intended to mean. The truth is, my own warped sense of self turned it into that, despite every good intention to fight against it.
Do I dare quit tap dancing, to the beat of a non-existent drum?
I dare to try.
And that's the truth.
The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.
~ Friedrich Nietzsche
Youth is like spring, an over praised season more remarkable for biting winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.
~ Samuel Butler
And remember, no matter where you go, there you are.
~ Confucius
posted by Unknown | 9:41 AM
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