Not blog-esque. Unblogable. Lacking a high level of blogability.
Whatever you’d like to call, that is what my life has been lately.
It isn’t neat or tidy or pretty. (Despite various packaging idea and numerous costume changes.)
It isn’t easily explainable.
Not for you. Not even for me.
Thus, I’ve refrained from attempting to scribble down any string of thoughts or emotions or observations. I’ve been hoarding my energy reserves.
And then there’s the general blog anxiety. I’ve had it for months now.
A little voice, with nothing to lose, didn’t.
I don’t know where it picked up a megaphone or how it made so many flyers, persuading the rest of my thoughts with it’s brightly colored paper and catchy slogans. Regardless, it established its tyrannical rule.
Eventually, the rebels lost. I think their supplies were cut.
So I dismissed any mission of rescue. My thoughts had been taken and isolated.
I adhered to the voice in the megaphone, broadcasting it’s demands. I fell in line with it’s rules and schedules.
But a series of events has finally persuaded me, including a determined campaign by Miss Courtney Claire. She sent me a poster with a quote that has been on my mind lately.
“It is in all of us to defy expectations. To go into the world and be brave and to want, to need, to hunger for adventures. To embrace change and chance and risk so that we may breathe and know what it is to be free.”
A year ago, I thought I was as free as they come.
Now I stand on a different hill, with quite a different view. I see what freedom is, and it was not the girl I was. I was bound. Bound to responsibility and duty and my own impossible standards. Bound to reading a scale of my worth that wavered, daily. Bound to fear. Bound to intimidation. Bound to rejection and pride.
I believe it is what life does to all of us. Some are small chains. Some heavy and so stinking of metal it makes you sick. Everyone does whatever they need to do to get by, but essentially learn to live with them. Some decorate them. Or try to hide them or pretend they aren’t there. I guess some people may even shake them everywhere they go, wanting you to notice them. I felt they weight, but didn’t have eyes to see. Like I said… different hill.
Here’s the kicker. While the desire is in all of us to be free, so many don’t fight. They don’t ask or push or wonder or crawl or cry through. And it is taking some pushing. And crawling. And crying.
And the pushing and crawling and crying has felt unbloggable.
Then last night, while sharing with my sister about some of the pretty intense stuff that is happening in both our lives, I realized, no one wants to fight alone. No one wants to feel as though at the end of the day, they are all the have. That it’s up to them. That no one understand and no one knows.
I feel so strongly as to the opposite way of thinking… that this life is for sharing. And we’re to be involved and fight for and with one another.
So I think unbloggable is stupid. It’s a stupid made up word and it’s a stupid made up concept.
I think I’ll swing back to sharing. The hiatus is over.