Seven hundred and thirty-nine

Well, I’m two days late for my blog this week.  I wrote a post on Wednesday in the heat of the moment, ranting about something that could be both controversial and something I feel extremely passionate about.  I walked away after writing, glad to get it off my chest, but not entirely sure I wanted it to be on the internet for all to see.  I came back, tried to edit it, still was feeling very vulnerable about the emotions behind the words, and ultimately decided not to post it Wednesday, sleep on it and see yesterday what I thought.  By that point I was calmer, wanting to rephrase a few things in order not to come across as hurtful to some people in my life.  I’m still not happy about it, so here I am, writing about writing it.  I will post it, but not this week.  It needs time to be said properly.  Blogging can be great for those intense emotions, but in this instance I want to present a well-rounded argument, instead of just my gut reaction to a situation.

That’s one thing I miss about straight journalistic writing.  When you interview someone else or write an article about an outside subject, you are trying to take an objective view of the situation.  Of course, no writing is ever completely objective, and the writer is always in there somewhere; however, it’s less personal, less intimate.  Writing this book and this blog has been really hard for me at times.  Do I really want to let the world in this much?  How much will people judge me?  How do I communicate how I honestly feel and connect with the reader?  I feel so vulnerable every time I look at the words I write about myself, my journey, and my opinions.

I’ve chosen this path, though, and I’ve come so far in it.  I’m proud of what I’ve done, even if it is a struggle.  It’s the struggles that help us learn lessons.  And many a lesson I have learned since I started blogging and sharing my life with world wide web.  Today, though, I feel exposed and scared, unsure of what has happened and what is to come.  Today I don’t want to post my most intimate secrets, and yet somehow I think I have done just that.  But today is also one day in a hopefully long life.  I’ll have many more days like this, I know, and yet I still want to continue.  I feel a need to write, to share, and to grow, even if I’m scared to do so.  I have a feeling I’m not alone in this.