Well, at least I did. I thought to myself, hey, all you gotta do is sit there and write about stuff. What kind of stuff? Any kind of stuff. Sure, you can do this, no problem.
Well, I was wrong.
See, the problem that I'm having is not one of motivation. I love to write and would love to do so all day, every day. I feel like I have this overwhelming urge to just sit down and write. The problem is that when I try, there's nothing there. I don't know if it's writer's block or what. There are plenty of things going on in the world on which I have opinions. Major things like the election, the craziness that is the Middle East, the doings and growings of my children. Also not-so-major things, like the domination that is Boston sports right now, the train-wreck that is the Spears family and the shambles that is Roger Clemens' reputation.
Unfortunately, whenever I sit to write something, I feel like I have nothing to say; even though I know that's not true. Is it that I truly don't have an opinion? Nay. Is it that I can't articulate my opinion through words? I don't think that's it either. Is it that I'm afraid to "put myself out there" with my opinions and true feelings? Could be.
I have trouble writing about my political views for fear of someone thinking I'm too left or too right.
I have trouble writing about sports for fear of seeming less informed than many because I don't eat, sleep and breathe sports.
I have trouble writing about other people because, really, who am I to judge?
I have trouble writing about my kids for fear of someone judging my parental chops.
Maybe that's the crux of it. Maybe I don't blog as much as I could because I'm afraid of what people will think. It's a strange thing, because I'm not like this in every day life. I couldn't give two shits what Joe Blow from engineering thinks of me when I tell him that his part of the software sucks. I couldn't care less what my fellow cube mates think when I state and defend my political opinions. I couldn't care less if my coworkers think I'm a bad parent because my kid got a cut on her finger by reaching into a soda can.
I think what I need to do is to just get past the worrying. When I really look at it, I think it's really the people that I'm close to that I'm worried about; not the strangers. I have this irrational fear that something that I write is going to alter one of my friends' or a member of my family's opinion of me or disappoint them in some way. This probably stems from years and years of self-loathing, giving rise to feelings of unworth, causing me to repress my feelings for fear that I shatter my already tentatively-constructed self-image that I let other people see; or some other such psychoanalysis jargon.
Even as I write this, I just thought to myself, "My but you're a whiny prick." See what I mean?
The problem is...I'm not really very different deep down than I am on the outside. It's not like you "peel back the mask" and I'm a monster. I'm really the same guy that I show the world. The people that I'm close to know everything about me...I'm an open book. Who knows what the problem is? It would probably take years of professional psychoanalysis to really get down to it. In any case, I'm hoping that I can just get over these fears and start to write. Because, well, I feel like I have something to say...even if I can't figure out what it is.
No comments:
Post a Comment