Posted by: sulya | 8 January 2010

The Compulsion…

… to keep writing on the blog every day is very strong. I’ve done it for periods of time but this last month was made different by – as I said a couple posts ago – the accountability… The necessity to log my entry somewhere other than in my mind.

Truth is these last few weeks were hard on me. Lots of good things, lots of sad moments. A few very sad moments. A handful of truly wonderful moments. Some powerful realizations that are still settling inside me with all the delicacy of glass shards being shot into wood by a 19th century cannon.

Clarity is challenging, especially when you finally find some.

And I’m in one of those melancholy moods today. I’m always embarrassed by them. Hard to believe reading this blog, probably, but I actually show very little of my actual feeling in my day-to-day life.  It’s changing because so many things in my life have been teaching me that holding back from your own emotion is stupid, that holding back from anything that matters to you is stupid, that life is too damn short and that that is not just a cliché.  Or, more accurately, that clichés are almost always grounded in truth.  That’s what makes them clichés.

I must feel as much as possible to live as fully as possible.  I still don’t do it easily or with very many people.  I can be breaking apart into a thousand little pieces and look someone who cares about me right in the eye and smile and say, “Oh, well, you know, I’ve felt better.”  The people who love and know me best can probably see right through it but they don’t often push me about it.  And I am very distrustful of happiness though, oddly, not in any way distrustful of  joy.

And I’m working on all of this.  This “feeling” thing.  I’m working on it and I’ve always had an easier time when I’m writing.

I feel things here, on this blog.  And it is a relief.  And it is a small miracle to me every time someone – a stranger, a friend – takes a moment to let me know that they feel it too, or that they feel for me, or that they simply understand; when they share something of themselves with me.

I believe more and more that whether or not it is right or healthy – that that is my definition of beauty… That nothing is more beautiful then the moment when someone reveals something of themselves to me and it should not continually surprise me that it takes my revealing myself to make it happen…

The bottom line, and by way of returning to the loose theme of this post, I have always allowed myself to feel most when I write and the only place I have ever felt truly, consistently comfortable – for even moments – being as emotional as I really am is when I’m writing in a book carefully inscribed with a note that is some variation of this:

To anyone who reads these pages without my permission, you deserve what you find but should bear in mind that journals are often full of whining, spite and vitriol.

Thanks, Management

And those books do give back.  They reveal me to me when I reread them.  It can be very sad to see how little changes over time in some areas but it can be full of epiphany as well.  And freedom.  And release.

So, maybe “the compulsion” is always there.
Maybe the “accountability” is always there.

Maybe it would better to surrender to it more.

More often.

Or maybe just MORE.

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