Writing

Writing something down as a permanent means of expression is terrifying and... thrilling. Letting someone else read your words is much like letting them make love to you for the first time; you feel vulnerable and exposed and not completely in control. Sometimes it's hard for me to let other people read what I'm writing because it invites judgment and, frankly, I don't like to be judged. I can appreciate criticism and someone's informed opinions about most anything, but my thoughts in particular? Sometimes I cringe when I imagine another person walking through the storage bin of my ideas, reading, evaluating... difficult.

Did I ever tell you that I was the Homecoming Queen? Did I? Forgive me if I didn't for it isn't something that I share freely. The Homecoming Queen, really? I know, imagine how I felt? If you were to freeze frame a character from a movie that would be sum up the kind of girl that I was, it wouldn't be the cheerleader or the diva or even the pretty girl that read books in the corner of the library. Nope, I would have been the tomboy who got picked first in P.E. when someone needed a pitcher in baseball or a stopper in soccer or even a linebacker (if they were desperaate). I grew up playing sports or I didn't get to play at all and, I was the girl who wouldn't be caught dead in a dress. Well, I wore one to Homecoming, but I was almost 18 then... My point, and once again, I might have one here, is that I've always been a person who just kind of... is. You know, wrapped up in her own thoughts and kind of doing her own thing and for a long time I did care very much about what people thought of me because, again, I didn't and I don't, like to be judged. But I came to a point, not long after I was given my "title" when I began to develop a thicker skin and eventually, I learned that I really didn't care what anyone else thought. Over the years, that way of thinking has helped me get to a place where I can appreciate people for who and what they are, rather than what they are not. And, ultimately, I am in a much more positive place than ever before. I had a lot of fun in school and I miss seeing so many of the people who helped to shape my way of thinking and who shared some of my fondest childhood memories, but I visit them in a detached way, trying to implement those lessons that they've taught me in how I behave and in how I treat other people. I guess maybe that's why I love teaching so much. I get a rare opportunity to, sometimes just for a second, help someone else find their moment or, at the very least, I get to be a part of it.
I'm not the smartest teacher or the kindest mother. I'm not the most supportive friend or the best listener. But I keep trying to put myself out there, to laugh at myself and to understand that life isn't about making the right decisions, it's about getting to those decisions. Should I? and, will it be a crisis if I don't? Maybe, but I will have been honest with myself.

I had a moment tonight when I looked at something and my heart fluttered and you KNOW exactly what I'm talking about. That feeling of pure desire coursing through you that makes your thoughts fuzzy and your knees go weak. I don't know, I'm not sure exactly what happened, but when I saw it, I felt like I did the first time I posted something on here; moved beyond explanation. And I loved it. I want that feeling to happen every single day for the rest of my life. I'll keep looking...

So, writing, a real digression here and, as a writing teacher (sometimes), I understand how difficult it is to put thoughts down in a linear fashion; to try and carve out an idea that maybe isn't or wasn't your favorite to begin with. I know what it's like to stare at a blank screen and will the words to come together; unbelievably frustrating. But, like anything worth doing, when the words do begin to come, it's like the blood pumps just a bit quicker and your fingers take on a life of their own; the words begin to shape themselves and you become a mere bystander to the creation of a new piece. And then, you share it with someone else. Magical; writing really is an art form.

I never told you who my favorites are, then again, not many people ask. So, here's a reading list for you. As I type the titles, I can feel my pulse begin to quicken. I'd better type faster:
Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence, Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea,
Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird, John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, George Orwell's 1984, Daniel Defoe's Moll Flanders, Shakespeare's Othello and Macbeth, Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, Elie Wiesel's Night, Toni Morrison's Sula, Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude... and the list goes on. Ask me again in a year and I'll have more titles for you. You think I'm writing this to you, don't you? You're wrong, I'm writing it for you. Slipping the shirt off my shoulder, you read the words and you see just a little bit more as time goes on... complete vulnerability...