Occasionally I am asked why I post what I do, meaning personal feelings, I suppose. Actually, I should clarify that: Occasionally, I am told by friends or my husband that someone has asked them why I post such personal feelings. I am always amused that, without any prompting from me, they response they give is that writing is therapeutic for me. The response amuses me because it is so true. More than once, probably in an effort to dig up dirt, the query then becomes "What does she need therapy for?" My friends and my husband deserve all the best kudos, because the next response is a smile, a shake of the head, and "Maybe you should ask her."
My response would be "Who doesn't need some kind of therapy?" I write because I can. Words bounce around my head, and it feels good to allow them to flow from my fingertips. I can't make them come out; when I try to write, I'm faced with disappointment. I like the way my fingers feel on the keyboard, watching the shapes that form words on the screen in front of me, and the cursor dance along the lines.
Ever since Creative Writing class in high school, I've enjoyed having a "style" of writing. No, I cannot identify or classify it, other than it is personal. My best poems and stories in the class were deeply personal, and they were the most satisfying, too. I could just put all my words in a private journal, and hide it under my mattress, but why? I like to know what others think just as much as I like to let people know that I don't care what they think of me. I am who I am; what I am; where I am. And, being organic, I am fluid and subject to change, growth and even stagnation. Writing helps me to see where I am, where I've been, and where I'd like to go.
Why do I put my feelings out there for anyone to see? Because that's where I've always expressed myself. As a dancer and choreographer, my heart and soul were on view, and subject to interpretation (right or wrong) by anyone who cared to see and pay attention. And from that experience, I came away with some very good friends--people who were on the same wavelength, or who took the time to ask me what I meant. As an introvert (mostly, with extroverted tendencies, or vice versa. Read more of my posts), the idea of expressing myself face to face with anyone (other than the closest of my personal circle) falls somewhere between intimidating and terrifying. It doesn't even matter how "personal" the feelings might be; I just clam up, shrivel, shrink, and often, in the end, chicken out. Keeping feelings and emotions bottled up is one thing; hiding them from myself so that I don't have to talk, or for fear that I might accidentally say something I don't really want to is something else entirely. Because that's what happens from time to time: I speak, and the words from my lips are not as fluent as what comes through my fingers, and can be (and have been!) easily misinterpreted.
My goal is simple: I wonder if I'm the only one with the feelings and experiences I've had, and I hope to let others know they are not alone. There's strength in numbers, especially (ironically) for introverted extroverts, or extroverted introverts. We're few and far between, but far more common than people tend to think. How's that for a paradox? And really, is this goal really so different from that of any other writer? Or any other artist? All it is, when we get right down to it, is an effort to make a connection. A human connection.
Interestingly, people who speak directly to me about my posts generally either ask me to continue, or tell me that they have always felt the same way, or that they really needed to see what I had to say, for whatever reason. The people I "connect" with, connect. I love them. If they find a connection, there must be one there. I feel bad for the people who decide to resist connections; I wonder what in their lives keeps them aloof, afraid, distant. Is there something in their world they are unwilling to face? Something they don't want others to notice? Why the discomfort of reading, seeing, possibly feeling someone else's emotions? And the big question: if it bothers them so much that I would share my personal feelings (good, bad, and things in between), then why on earth do they continue to read my words? If I make you so uncomfortable, turn the page.
I'm okay with that.
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