Sometimes life is hard for me to walk through alone. Something as simple as posting a public blog has been a real trial for me. A number of you have repeatedly recommended I post my pieces or write a book or do something to spread the words I write. For the most part, those suggestions have fallen on deaf ears. That is, until last night. With the help of a patient and persistent friend who often acts as my muse, I was walked through the process of opening a WordPress account. As simple as that sounds, it’s been nearly impossible for me up to this point.
What changed was twofold. One was looking at the faces of my kids this weekend and the other was a letter I received from an ex. While I try to encourage and stretch my students to be brave enough to think differently, to doubt, to ask questions and walk through their fear, in looking at them this past weekend all I could see in their eyes was my own hypocrisy. As much as I try to remind them to walk on in spite of discomfort, I’ve been unwilling to do so myself. The experience wasn’t a pleasant one and I quickly copped to it, admitted it and apologized for being such a flawed example. Rather than respect me less, they seemed to respect me more.
The other event was getting an email from an ex who has previously and privately scolded me for my writings. We carried on a brief exchange where she praised me and confessed the root of her criticisms had more to do with her uncomfortable reactions to reading my posts rather than my posts themselves not being beautiful (remember my piece about the word “f*ck” for instance? I have another about that I have yet to post, btw). Lastly, she confessed she is frustrated at having an idea for a book she’d love to write without having the ability to write it. Whenever I have writer’s block, I can relate.
Last night was the culmination of YOUR (the plural sense of all of you my FB friends) efforts; your kind words, your patience, your persistence, your prodding, your willingness to write me about your own struggles and how you relate to mine. Though I may not fancy myself a “writer”, you’ve called me things like “wordsmith” and told me, in your own ways, that I’m being selfish for not sharing what you call my “gift”.
Hearing that, I realized I’ve been insulting you. I apologize and I thank you for pushing me to do what I can’t do without you.