A few months ago, sitting in my hair stylist's chair, I revealed to her that I started writing a blog. From the mirror, I saw her face drop a bit, her hands momentarily ceased cutting, and as she looked right at me, she said in a low, concerned voice, "ohhhh....." Then came the questions -- what do I write about, how much do I reveal, and so on. Her worries opened up old and fresh worries of my own.
Prior to starting my blog, thoughts of how much to reveal about myself and about my life consumed me, stifling the art I was making in my head. The rumination caused a delay in publishing my first post, and once I did, I struggled with each subsequent post on how to be real and authentic, and how much to reveal. Deep in my heart I was certain the true me would come through even if I tried to be evasive, so was trying to be be almost-but-not-quite-transparent not only crazy but so not the point of writing? Born with an over active sense of responsibility, I worried if a writer has free reign to write anything about anything and anyone? Do friends and family have the right to privacy or do I request release forms from anyone who comes in contact with me and wear that t-shirt that reads, "warning -- I am a writer. Friend me at your own risk."
One day my ex husband asked me not to talk to others about what happened to end our relationship, citing privacy. I bought that for awhile, and kept privacy, but then it occurred to me that the story was my story as well, and I can damn well tell it.
It is interesting, and humbling, to discover a gap at what I choose to reveal on purpose and what is revealed despite trying not to. During a lunch time conversation with co-workers I commented that I was not that picky about food. Conversation momentarily stopped, and as I looked up from my sandwich at the 3 or 4 assembled at the table, eyes fixed on me, silence in the air, someone had the bravery to say, 'Yes, you are." Faced with a truth others saw and I did not, I was handed a chink in the armor of the public 'who I am'.
The art of being authentic, of speaking the truth, has always fascinated me. When others see someone dressed or behaving atypical and may mock, I think that person is brave. Yet, allowing myself to be who I am, and to be honest with myself about who I am, both thrills and scares me. Writing from the head bores me -- Isn't writing supposed to be a bold move, and is it not time for me to finally be bold and not participate in yet one more exercise in playing safe, staying under the radar, and defending (even clinging to) the chains of trying to please others?
Taking a step to write my truth, and let that truth be who I am is going to be an interesting experiment, and one that will no doubt leave me uncomfortable at times. But that is what has brought me to write, anyway; to leave behind the boring comfort of everyday existence and see if it is true that I owe allegiance to myself and to who I really am.
I am REALLY impressed by your writing skills. You have what it takes to be a WRITER, my dear, and no one else I know in person is that talented. I already know I could sit down and read a book authored by you. :) I hope you find the balance and comfort level you seek, and indeed, the courage to write your truth!
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