Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Writing and stuff
Anyway, ages (eons) ago, I thought of myself as this aloof, mysterious, hard-to-know kind of person. It was a persona that I always loved in the movies and books that I read, and in my brain, I thought that I was that way too. But as I evolved out of sulky teens and confused early 20s, I realized that this is about as far from the truth as you can possibly get. When given the chance, I will literally vomit my fears and issues and concerns and foibles on others. I don't do this to get attention, though I may do this to get the occasional laugh. Mainly I do this because, over my long and illustrious 40-plus years of life, I've learned that so many of us have the same fears and dramas and self-inflicted anxieties. So my hope is that by putting it out there, perhaps I'll get an, "I know just what you mean .... this is how I deal with that." Perhaps it's because I'm too cheap for therapy. Or maybe I'm overly empathetic. Or maybe I am looking for some sort of validation. I do try to keep my personal-issue-vomiting sessions to a minimum, but sometimes, when the wine is flowing, the conversation is congenial, the friends are so supportive, and maybe the moon is just waning from being full, I go off on a little riff. What was nice about Saturday, even as I look back at it from a somewhat more sober frame of mind, is that my friends were truly supportive (and I honestly did not monopolize the conversation ... I really did want to hear what they had to say). And what they had to say resonated with what I wanted to hear.
My anxieties and fears are not substantial. They are not life threatening. They don't stop me from living life and enjoying life. But they are there and they are real and I want to work through them, or with them, or past them. I want to recognize them and then move on. But I am not always sure how to do this. I've always been of the frame of mind that I don't know if a therapist is what I need. I feel like maybe there should be a sliding scale for therapists. Not based on my income; rather based on degrees of whatever it is that is bothering us. I honestly don't think that my concerns warrant the same fee of someone who truly is battling demons and devils. But maybe I'm just belittling myself or not taking myself seriously (who me? do that? never!). Or maybe I'm just scared (most likely).
But these friends of mine on Saturday night listened and commiserated and shared similar concerns and feelings and then proceeded to tell me of ways that they approached their lives. And it's what I've heard before, but I think maybe I am in the right place, the right frame of mind, even the right financial situation to seriously think about it for myself. So tonight I wrote to a man and asked for information about his writer's group. Tomorrow I will call Lula the healer. And I honestly will take the time for myself for some meditation and exercise ... things I love but that I say I have no time for (even though I have time to plow through cheesy romance novels for four hours at a time at night or to play stupid addicting Montezuma Revenge on my phone for 10-minute stretches).
I said to the writer's group guy that I wasn't sure what my intention was for writing, and I don't. I think I feel that writers need a lofty goal or to spout philosophical gems or at least make people laugh. But maybe for me I just need to open up, be honest with myself, write what I am thinking to get it out of my head, and then just breathe and enjoy. In all honesty, I think my intention is to become the person I want to be ... a fun-filled, peace-filled, content-with-myself human being.