I had lunch with a dear friend recently and of course we were talking about books, reading, Star Trek, reading Star Trek books and writing. His son writes every day he said and I asked him why he wasn’t writing (as he used to write many moons ago). He said he didn’t think his life was interesting enough to write about. “Au contraire” I said, or maybe I just punched him in arm and said ‘that s stupid’. He is articulate, incredibly well read, loves a good, meaty, juicy debate and mostly I think he needs to find his voice to make that connection to who he is, really is. I love this man and I know him……well. So all day I thought about his voice and where it had gone and then I read a lovely blog post from http://bornbyariver.wordpress.com/2012/08/06/what-i-have-forgotten/ about losing things on this journey we call Life, things that gave us joy and why we lose them. And this morning I had a conversation with a client & friend (as most of my clients become) about her putting her self to the side while focusing on the life, wants and needs of others. So after a day of the universe trying to tell me something…trying to tell me to write about this…what ever this is. Here I sit typing madly and spewing out words feverishly then stopping and realizing “I can’t put that out there” “What if someone actually reads it”? delete delete delete ...
Deep personal thoughts are not my thing. It isn’t that I don’t have them, trust me I do, but I simply can’t express them for the whole of humanity (or my friends and family) to read.
so maybe I will write about you today…no one would know it was you, or would they? Maybe I will just keep my thoughts of you private and only for my eyes. Sometimes when we’re together I hold back, even from just sitting close or laying my hand on yours. Like right now I am holding back writing the thoughts that I have good, bad, naughty or nice..Because too close for us is too close. Lines we can’t cross……
How do we lose it? This thing that brings us joy, that expression of who we are. Maybe it’s some form of art we no longer ‘do’ whether it’s writing or painting or even dancing.
spinning, swirling, swaying my body to the rhythm of the music only I can hear….all in the confines of my kitchen. Singing along with the words that stream through my mind, complete with bouncing ball.
It must be some type of fear that keeps us from finding our self-expression, our expression of self. Fear of being laughed at? Perhaps.
it certainly is one of my fears, being ridiculed, embarrassed As a child it seemed nothing I did was right, older sisters had either already done it, or had done it better.
Fear of failure or of coming up short, of not having all the correct information.
like speaking up in a group only to be told that didn’t make sense or wasn’t correct.
How do we manage to get here, to this place of silence, of self-repression. I really do envy the writers who seem to be completely free to express everything.
Maybe I just don’t have anything to say ……….nah, nope that s not it.