Hercules and The Wagoner

I have failed you, dear readers, but moreover, I have failed myself, for I had lost the courage to blog.

I never realized just how much courage it takes to fully open up and tell my stories to the world, but it requires much more than I realized.  My paralysis was so prolific that I'd even stopped writing for myself.  The more I knew I needed to write, the more I clammed up; I barely even journaled.  It was as if I had been blindly walking a tight rope across a ravine for ages, never thinking anything of it and then I suddenly looked down and completely froze.  Last year, I even took a creative non-fiction course to try to get some traction around my book chapters, but I barely participated!  To make it worse, the class was being led by one of my favorite and most respected authors, yet I couldn't put one letter in front of the other.  Such a coward.  I was so afraid of my stories being read out of context, without proper representation or explanation from me.  I was afraid of being misunderstood, of being judged, perhaps even pitied, in some cases, that I became completely frozen with fear.

The worst part of all of this was that I didn't even realize I was being cowardly!  I went through the standard "too busy, no time" blahbitty blah blah horseshit horseshit excuse excuse, but it wasn't until I read this essay by the very same favorite teacher/author that everything came together and punched me in the gut: Essay-A Kick in the Butt from Melissa Febos.  I realized I was my own worst enemy, my own hinderance, by lying to myself about why I wasn't writing.  I saw that I had never and will never be able to control the flow of information; I've never been able to give context to my stories or explanation for my actions because sometimes blogs are single snippets, read only once by one person and never again and never in order.

So there it was.  The big, hairy, ugly truth that I'd been dodging for months, maybe years: I had become a turtle, hiding in my shell, a complete chicken.  And what's even worse is that I'd become something I never ever even knew I had in me--risk-adverse!  I suddenly was giving a shit about what people thought of me?!  Of my choices, of my life?!  How did this happen?!  Talk about a shame spiral.

Since then, I've been weaving my way through my many fears, the semi-unknown, somewhat unactualized.  All this gut work should translate to real words on the page so that now, hopefully, I will have even more of myself to share with you, if I can muster up the courage to do so authentically.  Vulnerability is no joke; it takes a shitload of courage.

The other primary factors at play have been multiple career changes and, most importantly, the relationships I've been navigating around, two of which have been the most metamorphic in my adult life.  In my 20's, I had so many opportunities to meet and date a cornucopia of individuals, many of whom, I am grateful to say, are still in my life in varying capacities, but two very special people from these past few years have changed my mind, my heart and permeated my soul in unique and profound ways, some of which I will share with you.

Hanging on my mirror is this reminder for me, a quote by e. e. cummings: "It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are," and this is what I am learning to do, and in doing so, I know I will be even more authentic here, to all of you, for better or for worse.

jn