I’ve had more than one person, both friends and family, tell me that I’m guarded and hard to get to know. I’ve also been told I have a great sense of wonder, loving new ideas and new experiences. Of course, they also told me that I flitted among them like a butterfly without any particular plan.
Writing and journaling have both allowed me to express myself and remain protected. I have used it as catharsis and to provide a safe place to express and renounce those reactions that do not belong to the person I am or want to be known as. When I write, I may choose to deem it fiction and avoid much criticism and castigation. When I journal, I can now choose to share it or not, to do it digitally or not. Many writers use personal experience and, in the case of memoir, their “real” experiences often involve people and events who’ve impacted them. What I find interesting is that often its the same people who decry my reserve who complain when I share things more openly, especially insights (mine) about experiences that include them.
I’ve recently been reading Elizabeth Gilbert (i.e. listening to audiobook versions). When talking about her writing, she emphasizes finishing it and then letting it go. It will not mean the same things to everyone or even the same things she intended. I don’t know if this blog will ever garner many readers and it’s not that important (although I think it would be fun and interesting). I am doing this as an exercise to foster my own abilities and recapture the love of words used purposefully in my own writing. Ideas and words go together. I came to writing from reading and then left the same way. Maybe I can cycle back. I hope so.