Just Haaaaaaaayyy

This blog thing is taking on a life of it's own. It's my new hobby. I just spent an hour working on Part I of what is supposed to become a three-part series. I'd share the title...but it's a working title.

After working on it for an hour, I wasn't satisfied. It was more show than heart. I remember learning that one...hmmmm, just last year, actually.

Forcing the issue. Instead of just going with the flow. I was about to make this blog my second job instead of the heart-inspired opportunity to share that I want it to be.

Hey, what do you know, there's the real story. I'm learning not to force the issue. That thing I was hinting at and pointing to in the last blog. Three-part series??? It hasn't even been a week of blogging.

When I went on my walk today I was thinking about music clips I could add to my blog. Turning it into more show than sharing. What a homerun in growth for me. It took less than 5 hours for me to unclench my pitbull grip on thinking I needed to entertain rather than simply to be. Not even a week, and I'm the latest, greatest thing to ever happen to the blogosphere.

Its about feeling like enough. Not to needing to do bells and whistles. Learning to feel that what I am, what I offer from the heart, is enough. No one's asking me to entertain them. And even if they were....

And then there's the let down I have to own.

I was so excited when I began my blog. What I hadn't processed was my underlying motivation, assumptions and desires. I started this blog because I felt uncomfortable, guilty, imposing, when I'd send those long emails that put all my feelings and thoughts and inner life out in the open. Not just uncomfortable with the sharing, but even moreso, uncomfortable with the fact that it was a really big deal to me, and I had this strong desire for feedback.

Kinda reminds me of a bit from the Simpsons. Lisa begs her parents for a super stealth diary, a little girl's best friend. When Homer screws it up, she complains he doesn't really know her at all. The irony. Love the Simpson's show. The f'ed up recipe. I'm gonna say one thing and mean another.

"Read it you like, or don't. Comment if you like, or don't...love me if you want, or don't." What would have been honest..."Please read and give me some feedback... that's how I like to be loved."

I stopped doing the long emails when I owned for myself that what I really had an interest in was other people sharing about their inner lives, too. It was always a let down when I'd get people responding with appreciation for my sharing, but no continuing dialogue, no new stimulation, nothing that looked like reciprocating to me. Even though I know intellectually that all my buddies love me dearly, (oh...just remembered what time it is...of the month), I want my love in words, written words.

Then there's the fact taht I often felt kinda silly always going on and on about every little thing in my life, when it seemed like everyone else was too busy with living theirs to waste it dialoguing in print.

OK, point blank, I'd wonder what was wrong with me that I needed to share so much with so many about so little. The minutia of my life is absolutely fascinating to me. How is that everyone else doesn't find my inner life absolutely amazing?

So when I sent the big one out last weekend, the email, I immediately felt that same self-consciousness return. This blog was partly poor attempt at coping strategy. I've got to own that before I can let it be what it is truly meant to be. Facing my unspoken expectation demons.

I wanted to write and write, but I didn't want to have to feel like I was forcing myself on anyone. What I'm owning here and now is that I really did want to force myself on others. I just wanted to get around having to feel guilty about it.

It isn't that I didn't/don't care if people read my blogs, it's just that I wanted them to read them at their leisure. Come to me instead of me going to them. That's what I hadn't figured out. When I posted my first couple blogs, I was expecting that at least half the people I sent the site to would holla back a comment.

Nope. Just one. (Hi.)

I didn't realize how much it mattered to me until tonight. I created a fiction in my mind that folks were reading it but just not offering up comments. So, I put in a counter. That's the kind of gal I am. Some would call it controlling, other's demanding...desperate and lonely might work, too...self-absorbed, maybe.

Well, I'm getting a little tired of my going's on...

Just thought I'd let my lone reader know that I'm processing how this blogging thing is working for me. I suffer from easy slips into delusions of grandeur. The good news is they are almost always short-lived.


You may recall my believing that my ideas, facts and yap about education in America today was so amazingly unique that I'd be selling loads of my self-published book. More good news. Though my delusions of grandeur are short-lived, new ones burst on the scene before the prior gathers any dust...Before the old one's are even put on shelves to gather dust.

Anywho, lone reader, I lost another couple pounds.

Funny thing, too. The thinner I get, the fatter I feel. Every time I see my smaller self in the mirror it only reminds how much even slimmer I used to be. It isn't a head trip and I ain't complaining. It's just weird. No one ever talks about that phenomenon, and I'm sure it has to be a common one. I was a little sad to see my assets declining along with the rest of me, but I guess there's something to be said for proportionality.