There's something immensely terrifying about writing for people you know.
I could sit here for days and days, pouring every bit of my heart out - the ugly, the messy, the good, the not-so-good - with no hesitation or qualms.
And for a long time I did. Because for many years the people who read those posts weren't the ones I spoke to in real life every day. The early years of this blog were filled with much silliness and dramatic writing because I'd met so many lovely girls through the blogsphere and we were all faithful followers of each other's blogs.
But, nearly eight years later, thanks to Facebook and other forms of social media, quite a lot of people whom I pass each day, sit next to in class, see at church, or eat lunch with now have the ability and direct access if they so wish to click over to my blog and read what I've written.
And so during the past year or two, I inevitably always have the same reaction when a real-life friend or classmate comes up to me and says, "I read your blog!"
Oh. Oh dear.
It's oddly paradoxical, I know. For many years I wished that more people I know in real life read my posts...but it's a funny thing to realize that a handful of guy friends have read this post or this one. That if I post anything remotely melancholy, half of the people I see every day as well as my mother might suddenly become worried that I'm depressed or that something's gone wrong.
It's the age-old problem, I think, of every artist who wants to be recognized yet simultaneously fears it.
I am a writer. I speak best through the written word. I process through words, stumbling and delving deep for emotions that come to the surface only through ink and paper. Or in this case, black type against a white screen.
There have been many posts lately that I've itched to write...but have not. Because people that I interact with in real life read my blog.
And for whatever reason, recently, that's frightening. That so many people can see into the real, raw bits of one's soul...that they can, in five minutes, read the entirety of my emotions and thoughts, while I have no clue as to theirs.
So if it's been quiet on the blog lately...well, that's why.
Because I'm trying to realize what it means to be a public voice. What it means to write in the open, where any and all can read without me ever knowing. Because when reality and the internet intersect, it can be terrifying.
For a creative person, it can be anxiety-inducing. Stifling, even.
I want to keep going. For you.
So just hang in there while I figure out this craziness that is life online. It's a tricky balance, for sure. And one that I'm just now acknowledging.
(Really, I just need to be more like Tim - excuse the language - but I'm not quite there yet, heh)