I sometimes get the nicest compliments when people read what I’ve shared here. It’s encouraging, but also paralyzing. Not to say that I don’t enjoy compliments…is it wrong to admit that an audience makes me feel validated?Every entry is I’ve made thus far has been the equivalent of my talking myself through my own therapy session. The upside? No co-pays, no filing, no sitting on a couch with a balled up tissue in my hand. The downside? It’s exhausting to review my life so carefully. I’ve aged ten years in just the past two, and even more in the past ten. I’ve thought lots about how it affects me to be so honest about the most difficult details of my life. And it may be time for me to recognize that while they have shaped me, they are not the details that fill my every day.
My sister, the same one who taught my son how to make Deep Fried Oreos, used to be a bartender. She is a clothing designer now, but compares any creative endeavor with making a martini. Everyone likes their martini a certain way, and you never know if you’ve made it just right, but…if it doesn’t get sent back: It’s a good night.
Here’s where I’ve been stuck for a while. Paralyzed. I’ve now established a sort of weird petition to the universe by relating my most difficult trials. I feel pressure to maintain the same level of intimacy. A dozen or more posts go unwritten because I have real fear that I won’t present my thoughts with the same level of depth that I have shared my homeless worries, my bastard rants, my adoration for my children (note: the term bastards does NOT refer to my children). The pressure is completely self-imposed and I don’t know why it’s there or where it comes from, but, I’m almost afraid to write frivolously. I’m afraid that if I don’t express every thought with the same level of clarity, I might accidentally reveal that I don’t know ANYTHING about making martinis……. Ummmm. You know what I mean.
Depth. Clarity. Intensity.
Any relationship based on these things alone would fail. Not *just* fail, but come crashing down in a fiery blaze after first destroying everything simple and easy and honest about you me. I don’t want to have that kind of relationship EVER again.
So ~~ I’m going to try something new and be a little more forgiving with myself on the edit button, in real life and in writing. The second part of my sister’s martini theory? If it does get sent back, you drink it and move on. And: It’s still a good night.