Kind of feels like what I’ve been doing lately, that gathering moss thing. Put myself on a detox program of sorts. Not detoxing from wine, sex, booze or food mind you, I mean c’mon I’m not a masochist nor am I a saint. No, a detox from blogging, actually any kind of writing outside work and the occasional email. Not sure if this happens to most bloggers, I somehow suspect it doesn’t seeing how many of them keep plugging along regardless hits and comments but for me, well I found that my voice was getting too intertwined with my comment section and stat counter. Feeling like a marionette aching for someone to pull my strings, make me move about and when those strings went still I found myself, a pile of silent and lifeless parts. Sucked and unbelievably suffocating for me.
It was as if I didn’t exist, my words, thoughts, passion, desire and heart thumping were not possible without those numbers, those hits and constant words of affirmation. Those strings that once made me move now tied tightly around my neck, choking the life of this blog, my voice and honestly, the joy of writing right out of me. As someone that has spent the better part of her life being independent and not really vexed or concerned with how I will be perceived by anyone, letting others dictate, through my own bullshit, when or if I would do something that I loved, needed, made me feel confident and beautiful in a way that conventional beauty never could have….utter bullshit. I’d turned myself into an emotional cutter. Not writing for fear of looking foolish was not only punishing no one but me, it had in fact turned me into one of those approval seeking, “stroke me please” people that I swore I would never be. Enough.
So I took some time off, posted cheese articles and threw up an old post while I figured out if I should stop blogging, maybe give up writing all together. Ron Washam’s voice in my head, “You need to write for the sheer pleasure of the craft” in a boxing match with my fear and dependency….the words, “I can’t” slamming against my head, ringing in my ears, making those words of support harder and harder to hear and rendering me speechless…….incapable of touching those parts of me that drove me to share myself in the first place. Lunacy, complete fucking lunacy. Add to that the Writer’s Symposium where I had to honestly ask myself is I wanted to chase those articles about AVA’s and trends in the wine business, discovering, fairly early in the week actually, that I did not. Coming to terms with the fact that I am not really cut out to be a wine writer, at least in the traditional sense of the word, leaving me questioning if there was a place for me at all. Big pile of lifeless parts…..
Watched two movies last night, one of the many things I’ve been doing to distract myself from the slow, dull ache that was settling into the spot where my love of “the craft” had been. The noise and following a plot a respite from the over thinking….and the missing. Time to just get lost in someone else’s story and away from my own whining. Yeah, turns out I happened to pick two movies that were not only fucking tear jerkers, they were essentially about how connected we all really are. How even the tiniest of exposure of your heart, fears, failures, pain, elation, thirst, can affect someone else, often in ways you never thought possible. I sat there, tears rolling down my cheeks, my palm pressed against my chest, feeling the heart that had been quietly rocking now beating against my ribcage like two fists trying to break free. The pounding creeping up my neck, filling my ears, the unstoppable beat of the drummer that has always moved me landing upon my eardrums….this, this is what I want to do. What I need to do. I may never be published, may never write a book, may never get another hit or comment again but as I sit here, writing an honest piece, sharing my story, I know that none of that matters. I’ve already been given more, accomplished more than I ever thought I would when I started writing this blog. The rewards that have been bestowed upon me have come in the form of friendship, love, trust and support. Immeasurable gifts and if this gift, or voice of mine, this writing thing, brought me all of that….then I have been paid richly. Now, now it’s time for me to keep exploring my craft, discovering things about myself, sharing them here without the puppet strings of insecurity.
I don't need to be praised
Don't need to be liked
Don't need to be wanted and desired....
I need and want This