Sometimes I question the theme of my writing
If you're a regular visitor here you've most likely figured out that I don't usually peel off my skin to show you everything inside. That's just not me. There's definitely an inside inside of me, and I used to be all out there about it. In elementary school I was the town crier -- everyone knew all my problems because I screamed about them very loudly no matter the site or circumstances.
There was the time in fifth grade when I made a scene because I wanted to be a team captain in gym class; no surprise that I'd never been nominated, since I sucked at everything athletic except billiards. My classmates, horrified and embarrassed, named me team captain for one of the gym units, and I felt like an idiot; at least I had sufficient self awareness to recognize that I'd made myself look like a fool.
The screaming subsided somewhat by middle school, and I made myself invisible (even to my own eyes; don't bother asking what I remember from middle school, because there's nothing there). Through high school, college, law school and early adulthood, though, I still wore my issues pinned to my chest for anyone to see, if they knew to look.
I finally understood that I'd never done myself any good by erecting billboards to display my problems -- that I was doing myself way more harm than good by broadcasting my issues in the hope that someone would solve them for me instead of working to solve them myself. And once I took responsibility for my problems, they became a bit less daunting and a little bit more solvable (soluble?).
So I'm not the designated town crier any more. I have my problems, but I keep them more private now. I can't say I miss the drama days, because they were really hard on me.
Still, when I read something like this post by Her Bad Mother, I wonder if I should share more of myself. I compare the meaningfulness of Catherine's writing and question whether I can and should do better than I do now. I wonder if my continuous stream of slip and fall stories is what I really want to be writing about every few days.
And then I realize that what you write isn't as important as how you write it, and Catherine of Her Bad Mother WRITES IT. REALLY. WELL.
Writing angst. I haz it.
Whose writing makes your day?
