For weeks now, I have been pondering this blog, asking myself questions like, “Why blog? Why is it important? Is it even important? Isn’t it a little narcissistic or self-important? Why put such personal bits of your life right out there in the open for anyone to see? And who would care, anyway? Everyone has a life he or she is living right now at the very same moment you are. And everyone has a past. And these lives have the potential to be far more interesting and exciting than anything you have to offer. Why not just put it all down in one of your many hand-written journals?” The questions could march on, fall down, and continue to roll along the slippery slope.
I measure the growth of my life by the number of its fractures. There have been many, and each fracture seems to have been a starting-over. Like a new life, but not a new life, exactly. And in the manner of fractures, I like to believe that each one heals over as a broken bone heals and is stronger along the fault line than before. But the truth is: I carry these bone-bits. They are gathered in a black velvet bag the shape of my heart, and it has a silver drawstring to keep them all safe inside. I wish I could open that bag, shake the bones between the palms of my hands, and release them onto the table top. I wish I could read those bones and have them tell me a fractured story that reveals the whole truth and the truth about what comes next.
I own my loneliness, and lonely is a difficult text, at best. One could be physically surrounded by some of the greatest people in the world and still be lonely. I suppose I am looking to share my loneliness with the world and hold hope that others will find solace and a kindred spirit in me and in the words and experiences about which I write. I want to share with others what is, what has been, and what will be difficult, then show them that it is possible for light to be born of so much darkness.
It’s not that I’m fishing for “followers.” Or playing a popularity game. Or fretting over the number of hits and visits to my page. Or obsessing about whether or not a reader left a comment. But the comments are a nice surprise, like flowers on your doorstep when you least expect them. Because those comments aren’t just unexpected flowers; those comments are other individuals who just stopped by, knocked on the virtual doorframe just to say, “I know this; I know you.”
And with that, the loneliness eases—if only for a little bit.
In peace and love…
as always, lovely, emotional, flowing. Is like a welcoming to read, after the first sentence you want to keep going. Well said! <3<3
ReplyDeleteI love the way you write Michele.
ReplyDeleteI think in a sense, we are always alone. Which is fine, really.
Thank you very much. I am learning that it is okay to be alone, but it's a tough lesson.
ReplyDeleteMichele--you're such an amazing writer. This bit about the fractures and fragments that we carry with us...just gorgeous.
ReplyDeleteI think I blog for that connection, too...sometimes we get so wrapped up in our own heads, it's nice to find that there's someone out there who's dealing with the same issues, and feeling the same weights.
Great post.
Lori, thank you so very much for the compliment. Sometimes, I think writing is the only thing that keeps me going in this desperate time I'm going through, and it's important to me to find others who experience the same emotions that I do. Thank you, again, to you Lori, to Agnes, and to my momma for reading this blog and for your continued support. It means the world to me. :)
ReplyDeleteYou hit the nail on the head for me. I also have been questioning why I feel it's okay to share such personal information with people. Often it's because I am too lazy to pick up the phone and blogging is my way to communicate with friends and family. But, also, I like to blog in hopes that someone is reading what I write and that they find me interesting enough to comment. Comments are great surprises. You worded it so beautifully.
ReplyDeleteYou're a lovely writer and I am definitely a fan.
Thank you, Melizza. There's something so comforting in the "I know this; I know you." And I wish you much joy in your new life across the Pond!
ReplyDeletemaybe lonely; and far away. we miss you too; but not alone. <3 M
ReplyDeleteI am IN LOVE with the fact that you're back in my life, and your blog is superb. I take your graceful prose for granted sometimes, because I've been fortunate enough to encounter it in class and otherwise.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, thanks for flaying yourself wide open for us. The results are wounded, but beautiful.
Blog for whatever reason you want. I would blog even if no one read it, I think, but I have found an entire community of folks who read me and whom I read and in some instances we have met "in real life" and become friends. People I would not have met otherwise. A blog is just one of many but is also YOURS. You're a great writer, Michele, and need only a small amount of faith to move forward. Blogging is a good release and a good way to keep the words flowing. Stop it if you want, but only if that is your desire, not because someone else told you it was silly or whatever. Write because you want. Express because you need. Love because you can. Live because you must.
ReplyDeleteErin, I am so lucky to have you as a friend. Thank you for your kind words and support. "Graceful" is NOT something I'm too accustomed to being called. They called me "Grace" as a child--but for completely different reasons. P.S. You ARE my cosmic soul sister!
ReplyDeleteAnita, I thank you, too, for such kind words of support. I don't think I want to stop blogging because it *is* my little corner of world, and I think it is something that I need to do for me. "Live because you must" are probably the most profound words anyone has said to me in a very long time. I take them to heart.