Saturday, August 31, 2013
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
get to the bottom of it.
The universe rolls along and smacks me upside the head when I refuse to learn the lessons or heed the reminders that it has in store for me.
I hear my voice in other people’s voices.
Keep going and get to the bottom of it.
I read other blogs or essays, other things that have been written, and often find myself thinking, That’s what I want to write like. That’s my real voice. I’ve had enough of the dismal, dreary, drizzly rain writing that comes out of me. Enough of the gray day ennui and oh-my-god too much introspection for my own good. I want to be the voice of that goofy person. Or that passionate person. Or that confident person.
Do you know what I mean? I want my writing to be true in the sense that it is truly me. And here’s where the trouble brews, I think. I am so much not one voice. Not only am I changeable, but I find myself molding into the shape of others around me. There is such a very small number of people in this world with whom I am the first me, the unfiltered-as-I-am me. I keep that true self close and somewhat locked up.
The reality of being a human being, someone self-aware and awake to life, is that the stereotypes and neat descriptions don’t mean much. We are each a living contradiction wrapped up in a body and mind and feelings.
I hear my voice in other people’s voices.
Keep going and get to the bottom of it.
I read other blogs or essays, other things that have been written, and often find myself thinking, That’s what I want to write like. That’s my real voice. I’ve had enough of the dismal, dreary, drizzly rain writing that comes out of me. Enough of the gray day ennui and oh-my-god too much introspection for my own good. I want to be the voice of that goofy person. Or that passionate person. Or that confident person.
Do you know what I mean? I want my writing to be true in the sense that it is truly me. And here’s where the trouble brews, I think. I am so much not one voice. Not only am I changeable, but I find myself molding into the shape of others around me. There is such a very small number of people in this world with whom I am the first me, the unfiltered-as-I-am me. I keep that true self close and somewhat locked up.
The reality of being a human being, someone self-aware and awake to life, is that the stereotypes and neat descriptions don’t mean much. We are each a living contradiction wrapped up in a body and mind and feelings.
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