It is hard to write for others to read; especially, for something to post on a public blog. The biggest problem is I do not know if I really have anything of interest my readers would like to hear about. In other words, are my readers really interested in reading my written doodles?
Another big problem is that much of my writing is journalistic of a personal nature. I love to write. I often write when I am feeling melancholy, deep in thought, meditative, etc., and etc. The hardest part about writing is sharing them with others. You are putting yourself out there, revealing your thoughts, opinions, etc., and etc., at the risk of rejection, ridicule, and more.
My post on the anniversary of my dad’s passing was a written doodle. I had to do some major editing of the original to make it public worthy. And yet, I still had a hard time posting it because it was so personal. I must confess that I do believe that post was a catalyst for me because I am now writing for myself again.
I have always been the weird one in my family. Instead of expressing myself verbally, I wrote. I felt safe. There weren't any chances of misunderstandings occurring. I could fully express myself without getting interrupted by someone else. And, if they took the time to read my written doodles, I felt they would pay attention to what I had to say. Thus, I would have a voice.
I must say that it is tough putting your soul into other peoples’ hands. When I was in eighth or ninth grade, I shared a topical written piece with someone I very much loved and respected. When I mentioned that I wanted to write, I was told not to dream. I was basically informed that writers were like artists, they do not make a lot of money. Instead, I was advised to seek a career that would have a guaranteed income.
That person did not believe in me. I was crushed and set adrift – I did not know what I wanted to do in life. After all, I had thought for several years that I could be a writer. It was the one thing that I felt I could do. I know now it is hard work. But back then, I was a hopeful dreamer. I thought I could be all or nothing.
I did not give myself the chance to pursue my dreams. I suppressed many things that I had interest in simply because it was too “artsy” and would not guarantee me an income. I respected this person’s opinion too much to go against what was said. So, I would write occasionally only for me. It was therapeutic and I rarely shared them with anyone because it revealed too much.
Events occurring the last three years or so changed me from within. I discovered that the dreamer within me still lives. I no longer wish to suppress my dreams. I want to pursue them.
I may never be a professional writer; but, I am writing. My love for the English language is revived. I hope to improve. I may never be a professional photographer; but, I am taking pictures and ever striving, learning, and hoping for the perfect shot. I may never be a professional quilter; but, I do love the creative process. I am enjoying all these endeavors because these are the things I love to do.
I will no longer conform to the dictates of society or people I respect and/or love. I am free to be who I wish to be at any given moment. It is never too late to pursue your dreams, right?
All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them. ~Walt Disney