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.

Here’s what I mean: sometimes, especially when Jacob is working, I have long, quiet, drawn out evenings. I can easily spend two or three hours in silence, without even realizing I’ve forgotten to turn on some music. I’m chopping up vegetables or doing something equally slow and meditative. I’m probably thinking about some of the terrible things that happen in the world and feeling small, impossibly small, and like I could never do enough.

Other nights, I watch bad TV and eat too much cheese.

Other nights still, Jacob and I sit on the couch and joke about farts and take turns training our cat named Rat to accept being held like a baby. (Training involves holding Rat like a baby for a few seconds at a time and then immediately giving him treats. We’re up to ten seconds of baby-holding before he tries to scratch the hell out of us. We’re making good progress.)

Sometimes I write and I think this sounds nothing like me. And I don’t know if it is me or what me even looks like. People are so changeable - we really are. The me writing today, actually the me writing right now, is not the same me writing ten minutes ago and not the same me who will read through this later tonight and think some variation of, Who do you think you are? Writing? Really? You suck.

Why do I want to keep a blog? It isn’t for all the other reasons people seem to do it. I’m not building a following and I don't have much of an audience. I can’t take beautiful photos. (I don’t have a camera.........not even a smartphone. Truly.) I never seem to be writing about anything other than why I’m not writing. But as long as this blog is here, there is an alarm ringing in my head, reminding me that no matter how little I believe it, I actually do want to be writing.

Here is what I know: the world is full of beautiful, strong people in the deepest and truest sense of those words. Compassion moves me to tears sometimes. We each have a part to play and a message to share and the only person who will play my part and share my message is me. So shut up and do what you're here to do.