It’s strange… I feel like a wispy shadow wading through a vat of pudding when it comes to writing posts for this new blog. I feel unpracticed and unsure of my own voice somehow. I’m unsure of everything—from the header to the sidebar to the photos to the text, and it’s been an effort to refrain from apologizing constantly for everything. But doing so would be tantamount to apologizing for myself, for where I’m at right now, for who I am, and that’s irrational and unloving. I’m trying to be more rational and more loving, not less, even toward myself. Well, especially toward myself, really, since for the most part I’m much more generous to others than I am to me. The “shadow” part of my feeling is probably typical of this time in my life, as I grow older and leave the fresh beauty of young womanhood behind and become invisible to more and more eyes; my struggle against middle age has been going on for a few years now, but I know – duh – I’d better reconcile myself to aging and quick because I’m only going to continue the downhill slide, no matter how hard I exercise (not that I exercise hard) or how many boob lifts I get (so far: zero and holding). There’s no money for plastic surgery so I guess I’d better concentrate on my inner Michael Jackson.
That’s why today I’m going to go through my shelves, where most of my books are scattered willy-nilly, without much rhyme or reason, and gather together into one place all of my inner work and inspirational books so I can find them readily. I think I’ll use my Wonder cabinet because that seems like the logical choice. Instead of relying on other people to buoy me, and oh, I do love me some abject flattery, I’m practicing relying on myself. When I journal, and I do, copiously—I call myself loving endearments and give myself kisses and hugs xoxo and it’s been marvelously healing, if a little weird to confess. I don’t really mind confessing, of course… I like being vulnerable and honest with you because that means you’ll know me better. I hope you’ll like me once you know me, but honestly, that’s less important to me than that you see who I really am (and keep coming around). I imagine we all have a similar desire. We’re all utterly unique yet try to blend in yet long to stand out yet hide behind each other yet cry for attention yet… you get the idea. Such a tug-of-war between crippling insecurity and our need for individual expression. It’s scary putting yourself out there, where there are lions and tigers and bears. It’s exhilarating, too.
On a completely nuther note: seriously, my right ear is crackling and I’m dizzy. Does this mean I have an ear infection? Are aliens from another galaxy trying to contact me? Did someone pour Rice Krispies in my ear when I wasn’t looking? Drat. But, Love! xo