I Acknowledge The Limitations Of Writing

When it comes to identity, I have lived two lives. I have literally tried being all things to all people until I pretty much cracked up and dropped all my masks (on accident, of course, but they’re gone now). And now I am changing, solidifying into a real person instead of the shell of many personalities that I used to be. My edges are rough, my mission not quite yet clear. All that I am sure of is that I am not the same person that I used to be. I have no idea where this new person is trying to take me. I kinda just try to keep life in check enough not to hurt anybody or get hurt. That’s all I know to do.

In the mean time, I have been throwing all kinds of stuff out here on the blog wall to see what sticks and what slides. I never really paid attention to how other people might feel; after all, it is my blog and I should be able to talk about what I want, right? But also because I am testing the limits of a voice I just got–like pushing a Porsche way past the speed limit to see what it’s capable of, you know?

Now, I suddenly have this censorship of responsibility placed on me: How much am I allowed to share? Who will be offended? Will they take it the wrong way? What is off limits? How will this affect my goal of proliferation? Who can I trust (who has the time) to read things since I cannot rely on just flinging it out there anymore? Will my voice be muted or (even worse) silenced trying to figure any of that out?

The ironic thing about figuring out the answers to those questions? I will never know the answers until I cross the invisible boundaries set up out there. Before, I constrained myself in life to match what seemed acceptable; now I am walking freely into unchartered territory with land mines everywhere waiting for me to blow myself up (and not blow up in the good way).

Many blogs exist to encourage people; others to persuade others to their way of thinking. Some are all about humor and comedy in every situation, while others feed off tragedy and depression and grief. Quite a few are written to be helpful in a myriad of ways, like self help blogs or cooking blogs or Christian blogs. A whole lot of them want you to buy something: a brand, a workshop, a book, a dvd.

Mine is not nearly so sophisticated as all that. I write to find out who I am. I write to get to know myself. I write purely to lift my own voice. I write to pour out all the things that I have held inside for so long while I chased other people’s dreams like those dreams were my own. What AM I capable of when there are no restraints and even no filters on me?

But there are restraints. And there are filters. And I wonder if I will even be able to get to the space where my writing is at its best now that I have acknowledged that they still exist.

I know the answer to that:

I acknowledge them. But they do not belong to me. So, write it is.

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