Boy, I really don’t know where the words are going this morning. Not into a blog, for sure. Which makes me question once again my motivation for having a blog in the first place. I mean I understand the putting words on paper part of it. That’s a process I’ve been driven to do for years, as far back as I can remember. I wrote stories in grade school – and enjoyed it. Most of what I’ve written over the years, of course, has never been read, some of it not even by me since pen touched paper. So, why put it “out there?”
Part of it, I think, has to do with overcoming the fear of not being good enough. Probably the main reason most of what I write remains private is that to reveal my thoughts to family and friends would be exposing myself, and then my insecurities come into play. For most of my life I’ve relied on external validation for determining my value, my worth. So, if I expose my self, and you don’t like it, I feel unworthy. Better to remain boxed up, hidden, than to be crushed by your negative assessment. I thin that’s the system that has operated much of my life.
And that brings me back to a blog. I note that I have readers occasionally from other parts of the world. I even receive a “like” now and then. But I don’t know those folks and they don’t really know me other than the picture they paint from my words. So there is virtually no personal threat. The blog is a safe venue for exposure, and I can feel a bit more satisfied that my words may have a purpose. Someone, somewhere, may read them, and the words may touch them in some way. So, I guess I must write on!