This morning I find myself in a strange place. I know it has been caused by writing the last two letters. There I was, happily writing two letters a week, picking up things of interest and turning these into words. Vehicles for opinion and exploration. As I have told you, as the letters somehow found a wider audience (you really must stop leaving them laying around) people were indicating that they like them. Some even said nice things! Then, I wrote the last two letters and things changes.
The first of the pair had involved a lot of soul searching as I was contemplating revealing a personal experience that I had held onto tightly over the years. I had hidden it away. Imaging owning a very rare bottle of wine, laid down for an age, and you are now deciding whether you will open it or not. You will only ever be able to do it once so the moment is important.
With me so far?
I spent time turning the idea over in my mind, weighing the consequences. Time passed. Then, in a moment of decision, an impetus moment maybe, I pulled the cork and poured out the contents. Enjoy I thought, you will not taste of this quality for a long while. This really is a one time offer.
It initially seemed to go well and a bunch of people read it after you left the letter laying about. But then, only one responded. When I followed through with Part 2, the same. This was a “pearls before swine” time! Something precious had been lost.
I wanted to take my ball and go. I downed my pen, disregarded my writing pad and did the only meaningful thing I could do. I rode my motorcycle. Unsurpassable therapy! Then I did stillness and silence.
comparison kills creativity. there is room for you. nobody can do it with your voice, with your experience, with your insight.Karen Walrond
And, yes, in silence the inspiration came, the depth of wisdom opened to me and I understood.
You see, when we entered into our correspondence I was writing for me. You had given me that wonderful journal to inspire me and I was using it to examine, to unpack, to expand my beliefs, my thoughts, my aspirations. I was using it to challenge the things I had been taught, the beliefs that had been handed to me, the experiences I have had. A search for truth and understanding. It was to be the beginning of my own private revolution and you had ignited the inspiration with your gift. So I saw fit to share this with you. But, and I say this to myself, it was my journal for me.
But something changed as I wrote the letters. Others joined the correspondence. Others read and some indicated their pleasure by liking what had been written. My focus went from my own journey and experience to the people who had joined us. I was enjoying the comments (they had all been positive). I found myself starting the day by checking to see how many had read my letters. Then my experience following the last two letters made me realise that I had lost my way. This was, and I know this will sound selfish, meant to be all about me. It was about learning and development. About understanding.
Your life isn’t yours if you always care what someone else thinksAnon
So here I am, wondering how I had gone astray and understanding the attraction of the attention of others all in the same thought. I am going to return to writing for myself and I will let you read my musings, if you want to? I will make every effort to turn away from the stats and deprive my ego of nourishment. I read a good post recently where the writer gave a timely reminder that what we feed in our lives ends up controlling us. So I feed ego and the cost is an undernourished spirit.
In my last letters I shared a personal epiphany which seems to have passed most people by. If I write for me I will continue in this vain and may court a popularity poverty but, hey, it’s my letter and my journey. Looking the world in the eye, a smile on my lips, I would say: “So, you don’t like it. Does this face look bothered?”
I have written about freedom and spirit. I feel as if I have written myself into a corner in search of approval. Can I escape this? Can I be the freed spirit I set out to be? Correspondence will tell.
Yours, sitting in the corner waiting for the paint to dry,