Another item of business... I think I need to post something right when I write it. It's my habit to start posts and leave them in a mostly-finished state but still not post them. When I come back to my blog to review the post, I chicken out and decide I don't want to post what I wrote after all. Instead, I then come up with a superficial substitute to blog just for the sake of blogging.
I think it's important to note that people blog for different reasons. For some, it's a life-log, travelogue, or baby-log--they keep people updated on the objective happenings in their life. Some people blog for a job. They write wittily on topics pertinent and interesting to certain audiences and seek to expand their pool of readers, and thus, their personal revenue. Some bloggers present life in a delightfully amusing way; others provide intellectual stimulation.
So I asked myself... Why do I blog? I blog because writing is so good for me. Writing what I think and feel is one of the small things in life that consistently has a salient power that fosters my change and growth. It adds a richness and a dynamic to my life that just feels so good. I feel fulfilled when I write. But I do not feel fulfilled when I write only what I think is safe for people to hear.
It's in my nature to be a little leery of sharing my writing because (a) I don't know really who I'm sharing with, as this is not a private blog, and (b) my writing tends to be a reflection of the deeper parts of me, for better or for worse. I know I shouldn't care about what people think, but a lot of times I do. Upon further reflection, though, I think that it's not so much that I care what people think of me, it's that I hate the ambiguity of not knowing what people think. If I know exactly where I stand with someone and know that they despise and loathe me more than rocks in shoes, twenty-page research papers, Spam Stew, and other atrocities, I can handle that. It's the not knowing that drives me crazy. What if someone I know, admire, and love reads this and thinks, "Oh my heck, will you please lighten up? What is your deal?" ... "I am so glad I don't have to live with you anymore," or "Thank goodness high school's over." ... "Why do you always have a bone to pick with life? Don't you know that people don't want to hear the deeper side of things? There's a reason our culture doesn't open up... nobody wants to hear it." See, if I knew for a fact certain people felt that way, I'd be okay. People are entitled to their opinion, just as I'm entitled to mine. But for some reason, the not knowing is so hard for me. It's the same way with the papers I hand in at school. I can have spent hours drafting and re-drafting a paper, only to hand it in with literally no idea of what the professor will think. (This happened multiple times last semester in my English 313 class.) She'll either absolutely love it or think it's one of those mediocre, almost-hit-the-mark papers. Either way, I'll be surprised because I have NO IDEA what she'll think.
So why don't I just keep my writing to myself and spare the world my sentimentality, quirks, rambles, and muddles? Why don't I play it safe with superficial topics for school papers and blog posts and spare myself any stress not knowing how me and my writing are being received? Answer: In a world and culture that hides behind defense walls of humor, sarcasm, and automatic answers to equally automatic questions---e.g. You see a good friend on campus and they say, "Hey! How are things going?" Your dog just died, your apartment just collapsed with all of your stuff inside, and you're on your way to have an emergency appendectomy, and you say, "Good. You?" "Good!"---I have always been a person who wants real connection. Superficial relationships drain the life out of me. I want something real, something human, something you can touch and hold and laugh with and cry with and burn your finger on and splash in rain puddles with. I want that realness and that humanity.
I had an excellent class last semester that taught me a lot about life. One of the things that resonated with me the most was this quote:
"Without vulnerability, there is no connection...
Without risk, there is no intimacy."
That's why I blog. That's why I take the risk to be vulnerable. I want connection in any way I can have it. I want to reach out to anyone who reads--stranger or lifelong friend--and hope that in a moment of vulnerability, the brokenness in me can speak softly to the brokenness in you. Or that in a moment of triumph, the strength in me can speak to whatever part of you would benefit most by hearing it. For those of you who have been following this blog, I think that's what I was going for in my very first post back in February 2011. In a way I was reaching out and saying, "Hey [Reader, Roommate, Parent, Friend, Sibling], I'd like to share myself with you. Can I connect with you?" My original blog title was The Dauntless Debut of Miss Anne Caroline. While my blog has by no means been dauntless (even now, it's taking all the courage I can muster to click the Publish button), this post is an effort to hold true to that initial pursuit of connection.
I know allowing ourselves to be vulnerable can be hard and scary, but I humbly suggest that in whatever way you can manage it, give it a shot. Just once. Sometime this week, reach out and offer a piece of yourself to someone, even if it's just your mom. You will not always be well received--someone may look at that piece that you hold out in offering and laugh at it, spit on it, mock it, or throw it in the dirt. But the times that someone takes your offering, holds it, cherishes it, and guards it as their own make all other futile attempts worth it.
Let's give vulnerability a try.
Connection and intimacy are well worth the risk.
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