Over the years every now and then I come to the conclusion that my writing days are over. And then something happens to inspire me to write again. It could be something my cats do, or the way the sun shines through the window in my study lighting up the small cactus plants staff gave me as my semi-retirement gift four and a half years ago. It might be something a friends says to me on our morning walk, or the way I feel after reading a book or poem that moves me. This morning I realized that I have been blogging for fifteen years. It feels like an accomplishment when lately most people prefer instant gratification of Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. With those social media sites, I am able to say a lot, with very few words. When I blog, I think about how I want to write a post and often go through several edits before I publish it for a Cyber audience - people I have never met, and some who are close friends or colleagues. Each time I write my blog, I learn a little more about being an author in general. For example, who the audience might be, what I yearn to express, or what I choose not to say. Writing in the heat of the moment is more like spilling one's guts into a personal journal. Writing for an audience other than me, requires me to develop an understanding of my guts, so that my words might have meaning for others as well as myself. In other words, I have realized that writing is not only an avenue of self-expression for self-gratification. I want to share my ideas and feelings for others too.
Last year was very full of large life events, including retiring, turning, 70, and becoming a grandmother for the first time. There were days when my mind was full to bursting. I felt like I had so much to write that I often became paralyzed by the enormity of emotion, and succumbed to silence instead. Becoming a grandmother brought up so many memories of when I was a young mother myself, including turbulent feelings associated with the marriage to my son's father at the time. Indeed, there were days of excruciating pain as I recalled some of the difficult times we went through together and alone. Retiring from teaching was filled with conflicting emotions: some days excited and proud of all my years of professional development and accomplishments; at other times, afraid to become worthless and invisible. The more I experienced the turbulent emotions, the less I was able to write. I decided, I would have to wait and see how I felt once things calmed down and my feelings stabilized.
So, where am I now? I think about one of my favorite quotes of Natalie Goldberg: Write what disturbs you. What you fear. What you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open. I wonder if I am able to do this. In the last book I wrote I was able to describe some of what I was feeling viscerally. It was revealing and cathartic all at the same time. The more I modeled my thought/feeling process, many people who read the book wrote to me or told me in person that it was helpful for them to reflect on themselves as well. I know I haven't "split myself open," in the way Natalie Goldberg suggests. I seem to hold myself back. Fear of self expression is really difficult to overcome, especially as I was shamed for doing so over and over again when I was growing up.
This is not a new year resolution, but more like a developmental step in my psyche. In this 15th year of blogging, in this start of a new decade, 2020, perhaps I will dare myself to finally face my fear of self-expression full on, once and for all, and split myself open.
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