With Thanksgiving arriving next week, I cannot believe how fast the time has flown by. Ideas for posts, some latent for months, others drafted in fragments in a master topic word document, remain in my mind as I wait for the next moment when they will gain fleeting cultural relevancy once more. Hopefully that moment will fall on a day when I have a half hour to express my thoughts in a coherent, candid post.
This fall, I've started promoting this blog to friends and family. Sharing my writing can be challenging, because good writers by nature are required to reveal their deepest anxieties and dreams. As someone who has struggled with shyness over the course of my life, sharing these types of emotions has never come naturally. Writing has been my haven of self expression and comfort, dating back to those elementary school journals in which I described field trips and soccer games, then often experienced standing by the wayside. Over an adolescence, journaling has given me the confidence to think for myself, develop my own opinions, and voice those opinions to my family, friends, and, most recently, to my emerging professional network. Nonetheless, my personal writing has primarily served as a thought organizer for forthcoming conversations. Aside from term papers and scattered op-ed pieces for school newspapers and MFT, I've never shared it with anyone.
The fear that others won't like what I have to say, especially after the time I have spent writing and the courage I've garnered to publish my work, seems daunting at times. It's a fear that I feel has hindered my progress as a writer in the past, particularly within the blogosphere, where the condfidence of successful bloggers ranging from Arianna Huffington to Perez Hilton is evident. Nonetheless, I can't stop dreaming that some day others will identify with my opinions, inspired by them in a way similar to how my favorite writing has affected me. Therefore, I keep on writing.