I was recently reading one of the few blogs I like to check out on occasion; one of my very favorite writers has taken a break from this whole online journal, pour-your-heart-out-for-the-world-to-judge-and-openly-criticize-behind-their-desk/bed/couch-in-their-pj’s-with-no-regard-to-you-being-a-person-and-having-feelings-and-maybe-getting-a-little-defeated-by-the-words-of-a-stranger thing. It completely rattled me. She can’t leave; I feel like I know her!
She doesn’t write one of those mommy blogs with perfectly photo-shopped pictures of her children running through fountains or picnicking in the park. Not that there’s anything wrong with them. I love those blogs. I like escaping from my world of college at 27 and working on campus and living with my grandma. (I know – why would I want to escape from that?) The truth is, my life isn’t terribly exciting and between my love for traveling and the ex-boyfriends and my complete inability to move somewhere and stay there, I have started over one too many times and hate admitting that to myself. Sometimes I don’t want to face the mirror that is being held up in front of my face. I’d rather turn away and pretend something else is going on.
I think it’s normal to have bad things happen and to instinctively block all of that out, but the moment you find yourself living another person’s life – that’s a scary moment.
Learning to be comfortable in my skin has been a long, long, trial of self-deception and running. And it hasn’t been easy for me. It’s not coming to me like it should be. Is it natural to just wake up one morning and think you look great, you feel great, and it’s time to do the damn thing and conquer the day? Because I don’t often feel like that.
I’m not saying I have negative feelings; I just feel kind of emotionless.
I am the type that enjoys routine, and I think a part of me has become almost robotic in the way I live. I wake up and go through the motions of coffee, school, work, home, food is in there somewhere, and then bed. All of the times I think want more and I’ll finally go out and make that happen, I become complacent and long to stay in my house. It’s a constant battle of push and pull between my brain and my body and the confidence and insecurity that goes along with all of the pieces of your life that have come together and made you who you are.
I see pieces of me in her stories. (Although she’s waaay more articulate than I am!) We’re the same age, from similar backgrounds, and even have some of the same friends. (Both grew up in Houston, Texas. She’s living in New York, and I’m in St. Louis) We’ve never met, and honestly, I don’t think I’d want to ruin the disconnection that the internet provides. I feel like she’s one of my friends, but I don’t have to put in any effort to make the friendship survive :: she just posts what she experiences, I get to feel like I’m not alone in my thoughts, and my day goes on as it normally would, but her words affect me somehow.
Sometimes I feel like this blog thing is sort of selfish and narcissistic. I mean, talking about yourself and your life as if anyone actually cares about the mundane events that happen to you! And then I think of how much I appreciate other bloggers words and the wisdom they share with me and never know how much I appreciate it.
I guess the message is :: be kind to everyone you come in contact with. You may impact their lives in more ways than you realize – make sure it’s a positive one.
I’m not in search of sanctity, sacredness, purity; these things are found after this life, not in this life; but in this life I search to be completely human: to feel, to give, to take, to laugh, to get lost, to be found, to dance, to love and to lust – to be so human.