Where are the simple joys of maidenhood? This is the song Guinevere sang in the musical Camelot. To where did those carefree moments of sheer joy evaporate? Why is it no longer enough to run barefoot through soft summer grass or blow bubbles just to watch them float away? Why do we trade in a quest for simple pleasure in pursuit of more sophisticated and more complicated version of "happiness?" It has been said, "You can never go back," but is that really true? Can you unlearn the rules, even if only for a few stolen moments of abandon? Can you shake off the cloak of adulthood and thumb your nose at assumptions, snooty pretense and social constraints? I think you can.
I grew up in the south and spent my summers riding my bike all over town, going to the library and getting lost in magical worlds, solving mysteries with Nancy Drew and healing the sick with Clara Barton. I played school with my unwilling younger sister and our dolls (who were, by the way, much better students than my poor little sister who didn't WANT to play school!). I loved the swing set, swinging so high I made the legs of the swing set stomp up and down like a lumbering giant (but only when my Grandma wasn't looking because she didn't allow us to swing that high for safety's sake). When the noon sun was high overhead and it was unbearably hot, we'd take that same swing set, throw my Granny's quilts over the top and create a cool tent where we'd bring our afternoon treat of 1/2 of a banana popsicle and our coloring books and lie on our stomachs and discuss the merits of outlining the picture before you color it in versus the circular coloring motion versus using the wrong colors just because a purple kitten would look so funny.
We usually underwent the ritual, sometime near the end of June, of going to Kmart to pick out a swimming pool for the back yard. We'd longingly look at the big deep pools, but my very practical Grandma would inevitably steer us in the direction of the smallest round blue plastic wading pools with goofy turtles wearing snorkel gear printed into the plastic. We'd bring the pool home, find a place that was fairly level and we'd fill the pool with the allotted amount of water. Which was never enough. My grandma was terrified of 2 things: 1. Having a huge water bill and 2. Her granddaughters drowning in 1/2 inch of water in the back yard. We tried everything....Including sneaking the hose back out after she went in to watch All My Children (that sacred hour between 1 and 2pm). Somehow, she ALWAYS knew. She'd slip into a back bedroom, and yell out the window, "Girls! Are you trying to put more water in that swimming pool?" We tried, upon occasion to fake her off, "Oh no, Mamaw! (because that's what we call our Grandmas in the south) "We're Not!" trying our pitiful best to look earnest. She would never buy it, and would make us show her the end of the hose, which, of course would have running water coming out of the end, and then we knew......Precisely at 2pm when the TV was turned off, we'd get our legs switched for lying.
The worst thing about getting your legs switched was having to go and cut your own switch. My granny was a true believer in that part of the punishment, giving us time to think about it, dread it and stew over it. It was a no-win situation. You'd go down to the little trees and bushes at the back of the house and try to find your fate. You didn't want to chose a big, thick switch , for obvious reasons. But also, You didn't want a tiny,flimsy one because that would just make my Grandma more angry and that meant more licks.....And if you spent too long searching for "just the right one" well, that made her impatient and more angry too. Oh, the agony of picking your own switch! Then she'd grab you by one hand and switch the back of your legs with her other hand. We'd do the highstep while we went around and around her in a crazy circle crying "Oh Mamaw, Oh!Oh!" until she was satisfied we'd been sufficiently switched. We learned quickly not to try to shield our legs with our free hand! Else your hand got switched as well and that was not good. In retrospect, the switching didn't really hurt that much and we probably wore my poor Granny plum out. But it was so humiliating to have to pick your own switch and then submit to the consequences. My Granny was a very merciful woman, and usually a "switchin" meant 2 or 3 licks at most....About as bad as when she "dusted our britches" with her hand when there was no available switch-trees. I was a quick learner and didn't get that many switchings or britches-dustings; I was a pretty well-behaved kid. My sister didn't share my insight or temperament and got MANY more switchings than I did.
In the evenings, after supper and when the sun was going down, we'd always sit outside in the yard. Either in those metal-frame folding chairs with the canvas woven slings or in the porch swing (which was put on the swing set in lieu of our swing-seats). We'd sit and drink iced water or tea, wield fly-swatters and just talk and watch the cars go by. Neighbors would inevitably come over with their chairs and we'd just sit there until late. Well, the adults sat there. The kids would get antsy. Mamaw would make home-made bubbles for us out of dish-soap and we'd blow bubbles for what seemed like hours! When it was dark enough for the lightening bugs, we'd go get a quart mason jar, poke holes in the lid with Mamaw's ice pick, fill the jar with a little grass and maybe a stick and then, we'd catch as many glowing lightening bugs as we could. We'd keep them in the jar and use them as a night light, pretending they were our own magical tiny Tinkerbells. After we'd caught enough lightening bugs to keep our rooms lit-up for the night, we'd change over to playing Freeze-tag, Swinging Statues, 1-2-3 Redlight, Mother May I, Red Rover and a game we made up with some neighborhood kids called, "Are We Mice or Are We Men?" which was really like Truth or Dare, only we "made it up." There were nights where we played with our hula-hoops, our lemon-twists, or jax and sometimes, we'd just sit and listen to the grown-ups talk.
Another great thing about summertime when we were growing up was vacation Bible School. Bible school was a magical week....Where the church bus would pick us up before 8am and we'd ride over to the church, line up and march into the church by age groups and sing songs and then we'd go to our classes. There were many special things about Bible School, one being that we got to do crafts. Macrame was my favorite! We'd learn verses and I was really good at memorizing! We'd have snack time, which was....You guessed it! 1/2 of a popsicle! Bible school was so much fun! And a great escape from the lonely tedium of summer for us kids, and in retrospect, quiet mornings for my Grandparents! I still remember the songs and verses I learned in Bible School. Those were very happy memories!
Now that I'm all grown up, I look at summer as a long, hot ordeal. I don't really take the time to feel the sun warm my skin, I worry about sunburn. I don't savor those long hot evenings by sitting outside with family and friends and catching lightening bugs, we're much more likely to sit in the air-conditioned house and watch TV and not interact with anyone until a commercial. Now, I don't savor that 1/2 popsicle, I fret over calories and nutritional value. I don't run barefoot in the grass, I worry about pedicures and dry skin. I don't play freeze-tag or blow bubbles with wonder or swing as high as I can to feel like I'm flying. I really need to stop and review my actions and decisions....Do my current actions really make me happy? Will I have fond memories of sitting in front of a TV all summer? Or should I kick off my shoes, kick up my heels, chase lightening bugs and share a popsicle with my kids? Oh, where are those simple joys of maidenhood?
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
The Worst Cut is the Cheapest
Why is it that getting my hair cut is SUCH a big deal? I dream of the perfect hair cut!! The sporty-feathery-fall-in-to place style that flatters my coloring and slims my face. The hair cut that makes people turn their heads when I walk by and say, "Wow, nice hair!" The hair cut that looks good messed up, fixed up, and even wet. The hair cut that makes me look like I've lost 70 pounds and developed high cheekbones. The hair cut that makes me look classy, but fun-loving at the same time. Elegant, yet alluring. Sassy, yet mysterious. THAT haircut. The elusive, won't ever-happen to me haircut....This is what I dreamed of last night.
I suppose I am never really happy with my hair...When I first get it cut, it's too short, and I have to "train" it. (like it's a puppy?? Is there a hair obedience school where I can send it to save time????) Then, as it grows out, I hate it because it's "In between" and then when it's long, I hate it because, well, it's too long, hot and stringy. I colored it to cover the gray, but then, it was too light and made me look washed out, so I darkened it, which made me look washed out. So I gave up and just let the gray hair show, which made me look washed out.
I invest in styling aids that to create the perfect look for my hair: curling irons, barrettes, gel, mousse, "Putty,"hairspray, hair color, shampoos, conditioners, leave-in conditioners, deep conditioners, glossers, de-frizzers, curl activors, straighteners, perms, special brushes, blow dryers, large tooth comb......The list is endless! As is the pursuit of the perfect hair cut.
I think that part of the problem with hair begins with those stupid magazines that we look through at the salons to "pick your hairstyle". You know the ones.....The magazines with head-shots of 15 year old 80 pound supermodels with perfect genetics and hair that took 6 hours and a team of highly trained specialists to style just for that picture. The deceptive pictures that make you think, "Wow! I want to look like THAT." So, you chose, you point and closely watch your stylist's facial expressions when you say, "Would that style work for ME?"
I suppose I am never really happy with my hair...When I first get it cut, it's too short, and I have to "train" it. (like it's a puppy?? Is there a hair obedience school where I can send it to save time????) Then, as it grows out, I hate it because it's "In between" and then when it's long, I hate it because, well, it's too long, hot and stringy. I colored it to cover the gray, but then, it was too light and made me look washed out, so I darkened it, which made me look washed out. So I gave up and just let the gray hair show, which made me look washed out.
I invest in styling aids that to create the perfect look for my hair: curling irons, barrettes, gel, mousse, "Putty,"hairspray, hair color, shampoos, conditioners, leave-in conditioners, deep conditioners, glossers, de-frizzers, curl activors, straighteners, perms, special brushes, blow dryers, large tooth comb......The list is endless! As is the pursuit of the perfect hair cut.
I think that part of the problem with hair begins with those stupid magazines that we look through at the salons to "pick your hairstyle". You know the ones.....The magazines with head-shots of 15 year old 80 pound supermodels with perfect genetics and hair that took 6 hours and a team of highly trained specialists to style just for that picture. The deceptive pictures that make you think, "Wow! I want to look like THAT." So, you chose, you point and closely watch your stylist's facial expressions when you say, "Would that style work for ME?"
Sun Rise....Sun Set
I’m not really one for extremes...I’m basically a middle of the road kind of gal...but I’m not a middle of the day or a middle of the night kind of gal. I really love dusk and dawn. There’s just something magical about the slipping away of the sun and then it’s slow triumphant rising the next morning.
The dawn brings with it a sense of hope; a chilly misty new chance that slowly creeps color into the soft dove gray of daybreak. The dew glistens on the moist grass and leaves, not yet lost to the harsh heat of the day. The mist clings to low-lying areas and just above the water that sits with surface as still as a pane of slick glass. The brightest stars still dimly twinkle and wink like wise old men keeping secrets before they sleep in the sunlight, dreaming of the first wishes of the next night. The birds wake up slowly, softly cooing at first, giving way as the light brightens to full song. The air is clear and smells fresh, mixed with the rich aroma of hot brewed coffee. Sleep slips from my eyes as they open widely to take in the glory of a new morning. I realize that just like the earth is renewed, God’s mercies for me are new every morning. Nothing has gone wrong, the sunrise smiles over the horizon and hastens it pace to make the long trip from east to west to mark the day. I like the way the colors change from black to indigo to steel gray and then the edges of the world are tinged pink, the slowly, the red color seeps like life’s blood to stain the eastern sky before the blinding light of the sun takes over.
At the other end of the spectrum, after the day has worn thin, the heat has sapped strength, gravity has grown more heavy and the air hangs thick and muggy, the world just becomes weary of the struggle. When the shadows grow long, I welcome the respite and coolness of the veil of darkness. As the light ebbs and wanes, the sharp edges grow softer and blur into dark shades of umber and then inky blue. The lightening bugs play hide and seek shyly at first, then more bravely...while they blink teasingly to find their mates they look like a thousand yellow Christmas lights freed from their wiry strings. Cicadas hum and crickets chirp in the weeds while the frogs croak their pleasure. As the hectic race of afternoon gives way to the easy pace of evening, life can be savored like a glass of sweet iced tea on a screen porch under a ceiling fan. The dew falls and the parched earth drinks heartily; The earth that was so dusty in the hot sun now smells damp and rich. God calls the world to rest and comforts us with the light of the moon and stars to light our path.
I suppose most of the people in the world live for the day in between the dawn and dusk.... the time to work, the time to play and live and visit....but I live for the bookends of that day, the extremes of changing light. Each of the entities offering renewal for the soul. I like to slip into morning and into night unhurriedly with reflection and awareness. God created the night and the day, and it was good.
Painfully pulling away the Mask. Caution: This post is Brutally Honest about how I feel.
Lately, I've had some pretty "get-real" conversations with myself. Caution: This post is about how I REALLY feel and it gets brutally honest. I'm pretty much taking off the mask and asking you to understand the freak-show behind it. I've debated for a few days about how honest to be.....and I decided that I needed to just blurt it out......call in the back-hoes and wrecking balls and then clean it all up.....and hopefully when all the rubble is gone....rebuild on a solid foundation.
I've dealt with some issues of anxiety and depression most of my life and I can usually shake the blue feelings after a few days. But sometimes they linger and linger.....like an unwanted house-guest. The feelings taunt me and whisper lies to me all day long...."You're too much!" or "You're not enough!" or "Worthless." or "Guilty." or "Ugly." or "Fat." or "Awkward!" or "Stupid!" or sometimes something vague like, "REALLY?" Can you even be too much, yet not enough all at the same time? Can you be a mile wide, but only an inch deep? I think you can...because that's exactly how I feel.
My depression feels.....heavy. Some times, it's like a hot, damp fog descends over me and the air is so heavy that it hurts to breathe......sometimes....it feels like a wet woolen army blanket draped over my head that I to drag around with me...sloshing it's messy, moldy wetness onto the good things in my life. Sometimes it's just gray. Blah. And I just struggle to make it through the day to collapse on my bed at night.....feeling guilty for feeling sad when I have been so very blessed.
That's probably the worst......feeling bad about feeling sad. It's actually a vicious cycle.....that leads to a downward spiral of pity-parties, out of control eating, somatic complaints, more pity parties....which leads to more guilt.......which leads to more pity-parties....which leads to more guilt. So the cycle continues. It makes my heart race.....it makes my head hurt....it makes me irritable and antsy. I have bad dreams and then become afraid to fall asleep again...so I just stay awake....and feel miserable the next day. Feeling miserable leads to more self-pity....and more guilt because I'm not "normal" and the cycle continues.
The misery is compounded by the very real issue of my ever increasing weight. I've been on every diet plan there is....at least 3 times each.....but I've never found success for more than a week or two. Pretty soon, I'm back to my old habits of sneaking McDonald's hamburgers and slurping down Sonic Slushies and knocking back 5 gallon buckets of Diet Coke. Then....it's the guilt...self-pity cycle all over again. I'm just sick and tired of the daily struggle. I hate the way I look. I hate the way that even my "Fat-Clothes" are getting too small. I hate the way I get out of breath after walking 10 feet. I hate the way I struggle to do even simple tasks like tie my shoes or get out of a chair. When I look in the mirror....I'm sickened and disgusted by what I see staring back at me. I don't even recognize her!! Am I still in there somewhere, or did she EAT me too??? I can't live like this anymore. Rock bottom? The End of my Rope? Oh yeah. I just can't do it any more.
I've been spending significant amounts of time alone....which is a dangerous thing for me. It gives me way too much time to ruminate and dwell on how awful I feel about myself. I just wallow around in my misery like a pig in the mud. How pathetic is that?? My kids are grown and out on their own....my husband travels with his work and is gone more than he's home now. That leaves me home alone with just my ugly thoughts and a demon-possessed puppy who chews up all my stuff. I thought the puppy would help with the loneliness.....but it doesn't. I just feel guilty about not wanting to play with her.
I feel like I'm just existing. I'm not living....I'm not engaging....I'm just barely trudging from one day to the next day....praying nobody sees through the facade...nobody peeks behind the mask I plaster on my face every morning when I put on my make-up. I joke around a lot....try my best to be witty and funny ..mostly because it's more acceptable to laugh than cry.....and because I don't want people to know that inside.....I feel like I'm fading away into a dark, damp dungeon.
The crazy thing is that I have NO idea why I feel this way. That's what drives me nuts about it. I have everything I could ever need.....more than I could even want and way more than I ever dreamed I'd have. I have 2 beautiful adult children....a husband I adore....a very nice house.....nice "stuff".....financial success....all my material needs are met a thousand times over. I believe in God and I accept His grace and forgiveness and know that I am His child. I have friends and co-workers that care about me.....a family that loves me.....I have NO REASON to feel this way. Not a single excuse! I think that's a big source of the guilt......how can I feel so sad when I have it so good? I wish I understood the reasons why.
I cry.....I cry a LOT. All the time. At dumb stuff that doesn't merit crying. I really have no control over it. I cry when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm lonely, when I'm anxious; I cry when I see a sappy commercial. I can't watch sad movies (I cried for days after Titanic). I cry at church. I cry in the car. I cry in the shower. I cry at work. I've even cried at the grocery store because of a Muzak version of a song that reminded me of a long-ago hurt. It's insane!.......and I can't stop the water-works....even at inappropriate and inconvenient times. It's the darnedest thing. It embarrasses me to no end and destroys any feelings of professionalism. Mostly though, I hate it when my husband sees me crying....I don't want him to feel bad....or at fault. Because he's not. He's a wonderful and amazing husband.
After 25 years of marriage and raising 2 children.....I do worry that he feels "stuck" with me now....stuck with a big, crying, fat, hot-mess. Somebody who cries all the time, whines like a 2 year old and someone who looks a lot like Jabba-the-Hut. I know I'm not attractive to him anymore.......I have eyes in my head and know that I'm not attractive to anyone now.....and yet he still loves me, is faithful to me and cares for me in the most amazing ways. I can't help but think that he deserves so much better than what I have to offer him.
I just feel.....broken. I feel weary, beat-down by my own self-doubt, and honestly......I feel ashamed of what I have become. It's time for some MAJOR changes.
It's time for some SIGNIFICANT changes. And I'm taking the first few baby steps today. I'm starting by being completely honest and taking off the mask and getting REAL.....with myself and with the ones I care about. Too real? Maybe. Too honest? Probably. Too public? Most likely. But I'm going to need some help along the way. I'm going to need some cheerleaders who won't give up on me. I am going to need somebody to talk me down off the ledge and somebody to love me even when I can't love myself. I'm going to need prayer...and lots of it. I'm going to need grace, hope and faith. I am going to need friends I can count on to be honest with me and who will call me out when I'm trying to fake it. And, yes, I do realize that I am asking for a lot.
I named my blog "On The Road to DeMaskUs" for a reason......I'm tired of hiding behind my mask and pretending. I need a life changing encounter. I want to be real. I want to be who I was meant to be...and not what I've allowed myself to become. My first step was being publicly honest about myself and the things I've kept hidden. Now, I'm ready for Step 2.
"Lord, I believe.....Help my unbelief!!!"
I've dealt with some issues of anxiety and depression most of my life and I can usually shake the blue feelings after a few days. But sometimes they linger and linger.....like an unwanted house-guest. The feelings taunt me and whisper lies to me all day long...."You're too much!" or "You're not enough!" or "Worthless." or "Guilty." or "Ugly." or "Fat." or "Awkward!" or "Stupid!" or sometimes something vague like, "REALLY?" Can you even be too much, yet not enough all at the same time? Can you be a mile wide, but only an inch deep? I think you can...because that's exactly how I feel.
My depression feels.....heavy. Some times, it's like a hot, damp fog descends over me and the air is so heavy that it hurts to breathe......sometimes....it feels like a wet woolen army blanket draped over my head that I to drag around with me...sloshing it's messy, moldy wetness onto the good things in my life. Sometimes it's just gray. Blah. And I just struggle to make it through the day to collapse on my bed at night.....feeling guilty for feeling sad when I have been so very blessed.
That's probably the worst......feeling bad about feeling sad. It's actually a vicious cycle.....that leads to a downward spiral of pity-parties, out of control eating, somatic complaints, more pity parties....which leads to more guilt.......which leads to more pity-parties....which leads to more guilt. So the cycle continues. It makes my heart race.....it makes my head hurt....it makes me irritable and antsy. I have bad dreams and then become afraid to fall asleep again...so I just stay awake....and feel miserable the next day. Feeling miserable leads to more self-pity....and more guilt because I'm not "normal" and the cycle continues.
The misery is compounded by the very real issue of my ever increasing weight. I've been on every diet plan there is....at least 3 times each.....but I've never found success for more than a week or two. Pretty soon, I'm back to my old habits of sneaking McDonald's hamburgers and slurping down Sonic Slushies and knocking back 5 gallon buckets of Diet Coke. Then....it's the guilt...self-pity cycle all over again. I'm just sick and tired of the daily struggle. I hate the way I look. I hate the way that even my "Fat-Clothes" are getting too small. I hate the way I get out of breath after walking 10 feet. I hate the way I struggle to do even simple tasks like tie my shoes or get out of a chair. When I look in the mirror....I'm sickened and disgusted by what I see staring back at me. I don't even recognize her!! Am I still in there somewhere, or did she EAT me too??? I can't live like this anymore. Rock bottom? The End of my Rope? Oh yeah. I just can't do it any more.
I've been spending significant amounts of time alone....which is a dangerous thing for me. It gives me way too much time to ruminate and dwell on how awful I feel about myself. I just wallow around in my misery like a pig in the mud. How pathetic is that?? My kids are grown and out on their own....my husband travels with his work and is gone more than he's home now. That leaves me home alone with just my ugly thoughts and a demon-possessed puppy who chews up all my stuff. I thought the puppy would help with the loneliness.....but it doesn't. I just feel guilty about not wanting to play with her.
I feel like I'm just existing. I'm not living....I'm not engaging....I'm just barely trudging from one day to the next day....praying nobody sees through the facade...nobody peeks behind the mask I plaster on my face every morning when I put on my make-up. I joke around a lot....try my best to be witty and funny ..mostly because it's more acceptable to laugh than cry.....and because I don't want people to know that inside.....I feel like I'm fading away into a dark, damp dungeon.
The crazy thing is that I have NO idea why I feel this way. That's what drives me nuts about it. I have everything I could ever need.....more than I could even want and way more than I ever dreamed I'd have. I have 2 beautiful adult children....a husband I adore....a very nice house.....nice "stuff".....financial success....all my material needs are met a thousand times over. I believe in God and I accept His grace and forgiveness and know that I am His child. I have friends and co-workers that care about me.....a family that loves me.....I have NO REASON to feel this way. Not a single excuse! I think that's a big source of the guilt......how can I feel so sad when I have it so good? I wish I understood the reasons why.
I cry.....I cry a LOT. All the time. At dumb stuff that doesn't merit crying. I really have no control over it. I cry when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm lonely, when I'm anxious; I cry when I see a sappy commercial. I can't watch sad movies (I cried for days after Titanic). I cry at church. I cry in the car. I cry in the shower. I cry at work. I've even cried at the grocery store because of a Muzak version of a song that reminded me of a long-ago hurt. It's insane!.......and I can't stop the water-works....even at inappropriate and inconvenient times. It's the darnedest thing. It embarrasses me to no end and destroys any feelings of professionalism. Mostly though, I hate it when my husband sees me crying....I don't want him to feel bad....or at fault. Because he's not. He's a wonderful and amazing husband.
After 25 years of marriage and raising 2 children.....I do worry that he feels "stuck" with me now....stuck with a big, crying, fat, hot-mess. Somebody who cries all the time, whines like a 2 year old and someone who looks a lot like Jabba-the-Hut. I know I'm not attractive to him anymore.......I have eyes in my head and know that I'm not attractive to anyone now.....and yet he still loves me, is faithful to me and cares for me in the most amazing ways. I can't help but think that he deserves so much better than what I have to offer him.
I just feel.....broken. I feel weary, beat-down by my own self-doubt, and honestly......I feel ashamed of what I have become. It's time for some MAJOR changes.
It's time for some SIGNIFICANT changes. And I'm taking the first few baby steps today. I'm starting by being completely honest and taking off the mask and getting REAL.....with myself and with the ones I care about. Too real? Maybe. Too honest? Probably. Too public? Most likely. But I'm going to need some help along the way. I'm going to need some cheerleaders who won't give up on me. I am going to need somebody to talk me down off the ledge and somebody to love me even when I can't love myself. I'm going to need prayer...and lots of it. I'm going to need grace, hope and faith. I am going to need friends I can count on to be honest with me and who will call me out when I'm trying to fake it. And, yes, I do realize that I am asking for a lot.
I named my blog "On The Road to DeMaskUs" for a reason......I'm tired of hiding behind my mask and pretending. I need a life changing encounter. I want to be real. I want to be who I was meant to be...and not what I've allowed myself to become. My first step was being publicly honest about myself and the things I've kept hidden. Now, I'm ready for Step 2.
"Lord, I believe.....Help my unbelief!!!"
Questions
I wanted to write, but when I sit down to write, my mind seems to go blank. There's no logical progression to my thoughts, and I can't even seem to focus on a topic. It's a dream of mine to write...Poetry, prose, short stories, novels, self-help, Bible studies, nature stories, how-to, biography, fiction, and now...a blog???...Where does one start? Do I look for writing prompts? Do I wait for inspiration? Do I just start writing?
Will I have anything to say? Will I be able to convey my thoughts with clarity? Will I ramble? Will anyone want to read it? Does it matter? Can I write for the simple pleasure of it, or do I need an audience? Do I need to make a point or can I just indulge my whims? Can I write an entire piece by only asking questions?
Do I write about real life? Do I write about fantasy, dreams, magical places that exist only in my mind? Do I write about people I know? Or do I write about people I'd like to know or who I'd like to become? Do I write about the present, the future or the past? Do I write about the super-fantastic or do I write about the every day? So many, many questions!!!
Can I share what's in my heart, or do I need to guard those secrets? Can I be open and honest or do I need to be polite and lady-like? Can I be riotous and bawdy or do I need to be pristine and pure? Do I need to spell everything correctly, or can I take liberties with the language and write like we really talk? Do I worry about other people's opinions or can I just rant? Can I make up the rules as I go along?
How do I develop the characters? How do I write dialogue? How do I make it sound real and not contrived? How do I make it interesting? Can a compilation of descriptions join together to make a story? Can my story be scattered, or does it need to be structured? Do I want to write about love, hope and purpose or do I want to explore the darker depression, despair and apathy that are sometimes my companions? Can I do both?
Will my writing embarrass my family? Would it embarrass me? Am I qualified enough? Can I even pretend to be an expert on anything? Can I stay focused long enough to finish a project? Can I be successful? Can I even define successful? Where do I start? I have ideas that swim around and around in my head...but how do I fish those out and dry them off enough to put them on paper? Like other fish, Would they die outside of the water or would they develop lungs and feet and walk away with a smile? How will I know until I try? Where can I find the courage to try?
Why do I question everything? Can I just take that first step? Can I just let go? Can I just do it?
Will I have anything to say? Will I be able to convey my thoughts with clarity? Will I ramble? Will anyone want to read it? Does it matter? Can I write for the simple pleasure of it, or do I need an audience? Do I need to make a point or can I just indulge my whims? Can I write an entire piece by only asking questions?
Do I write about real life? Do I write about fantasy, dreams, magical places that exist only in my mind? Do I write about people I know? Or do I write about people I'd like to know or who I'd like to become? Do I write about the present, the future or the past? Do I write about the super-fantastic or do I write about the every day? So many, many questions!!!
Can I share what's in my heart, or do I need to guard those secrets? Can I be open and honest or do I need to be polite and lady-like? Can I be riotous and bawdy or do I need to be pristine and pure? Do I need to spell everything correctly, or can I take liberties with the language and write like we really talk? Do I worry about other people's opinions or can I just rant? Can I make up the rules as I go along?
How do I develop the characters? How do I write dialogue? How do I make it sound real and not contrived? How do I make it interesting? Can a compilation of descriptions join together to make a story? Can my story be scattered, or does it need to be structured? Do I want to write about love, hope and purpose or do I want to explore the darker depression, despair and apathy that are sometimes my companions? Can I do both?
Will my writing embarrass my family? Would it embarrass me? Am I qualified enough? Can I even pretend to be an expert on anything? Can I stay focused long enough to finish a project? Can I be successful? Can I even define successful? Where do I start? I have ideas that swim around and around in my head...but how do I fish those out and dry them off enough to put them on paper? Like other fish, Would they die outside of the water or would they develop lungs and feet and walk away with a smile? How will I know until I try? Where can I find the courage to try?
Why do I question everything? Can I just take that first step? Can I just let go? Can I just do it?
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