You know, to be honest, I really thought I would use this blog more than I do . . . After all, I LOVE to write . . . I know some people have blogs mainly to post photos, or recipes, or youtube clips . . .but I am not much of a photographer, and sharing recipes just isn't my thing, except on rare occasions, and I am not technologically savvy enough to post clips. Those just simply aren't my thing. But I LOVE love LOVE to write . . .
And yet, days turn into weeks and I just don't write here . . .
I guess I haven't found my little niche -- yet -- in blogland . . .
Who am I writing for or to . . . What am I trying to accomplish here . . . If this is JUST for me, why don't I write in an old fashioned journal . . .
I just don't know . . .
This began as an experiment . . . to allow my children and extended family members to get to know ME (if they had any desire to) . . . beyond just the me-as-mom . . . and the me-as-wife . . . and the me-as-aunt . . . me-as-sister, etc . . . I wanted to be able to share my thoughts, my insights, my life experiences just as a PERSON . . . just as a WOMAN . . . just as, well, ME . . .
But that is harder to do that it seems like it would be . . .
I find myself filtering things so I don't step on anybody's toes . . . so there is no possibility of stepping on toes . . . Maybe I still do . . . but that is not my intent . . . There is no getting away from the fact that that IS tricky, though . . . For instance, if I share something about my marriage or relationship with my husband, how is he going to feel about what I share? Will he feel exposed? threatened? uncomfortable? If I worry too much about that, then I filter what I write, and it becomes NOT a reflection of my thoughts and insights, but what I think he wants to hear or needs to hear . . .
Ditto for others . . . Where does my need/right to share end . . . ? Is it at someone else's comfort zone? I heard about an author who wrote a book about family interactions that was a thinly disguised autobiography. When it got published and got a lot of attention her family members were FURIOUS with her . . . They felt humiliated and uncomfortably, unflatteringly portrayed . . . Most of them stopped speaking to her, and one even brought suit against her for invasion of privacy . . .
The trouble is, I can see both sides of that . . .
The author had a right to tell her story . . . She had changed names and fudged a bit on details to cloud who and what she was talking about . . . She tried to be objective and fair, but in order to tell the stories authentically, she couldn't focus on how the people would LIKE to be portrayed . . . She was more concerned with telling her story, and sharing her insights about human nature . . .
Her family members, on the other hand, were angry and upset at her seeming betrayal. They felt like she had no right to share the intimate details of their lives, even with the names changed. THEY could recognize themselves in her book, and had no reason to think others would have any more difficulty. In addition to that, they felt like THEIR side of the stories and issues were not properly addressed . . . The rendition was all one sided, and wasn't fair . . .
And that IS inevitable . . . isn't it? We all see things from our own points of view, even as we share experiences with one another (and isn't that what relationships are about? sharing?) . . . We get glimpses into the mindset of others as we get older and stop being quite so self absorbed . . . as we develop compassion and a willingness to suspend judgment . . . but even so, it is probably nigh unto impossible to TRULY be completely objective . . . especially when dealing with the highly-emotionally-charged issues regarding the intimacies of family relationships and friendships . . .
On the other hand . . . is it really worth the effort and self reflection to blog, if all one can share is bland, inoffensive pleasantries? I am not one that has ever TRIED to be offensive . . . I do not walk around proclaiming "I am what I am, and you just have to deal with it" as I stomp carelessly through the lives of others . . . I have no desire to live like that. I don't LIKE to hurt or offend or embarrass other people . . . Still . . . if all I can say here (since my extended family and friends DO have access to it) are generic niceties . . . um . . . why bother?
I mean, it would be nice if my marriage was always moonlight and roses, and my extended family relationships never had any squabbles -- large or small -- and all my friends were exemplary and perfect. But that is not real life . . . It just isn't. EVERY relationship chafes sometimes . . . EVERY relationship can be stifling and irritating once in awhile . . . ALL of us have things of which we are not proud (and perhaps even downright ashamed) of . . . that is the nature of the beast, the cost of being human . . .
When my children were little, I began writing long, newsy letters to my family and also to my in laws . . . In them, I told about our day-to-day lives, cute things the kids had said and done, about our hopes and dreams and plans . . . My mother-in-law saved them ALL in several huge binders and gave them back to me as a family history of sorts. I LOVE reading through them and being reminded of little incidents that I had completely forgotten about . . . and yet even as I delight in reading them, I am aware that they do not tell the whole story.
Those long, newsy letters tell a prettified, sanitized version of our lives . . . one in which my husband and I might squabble and have our little differences, but we certainly are never ANGRY or FRUSTRATED or wonder if we will still be together in another year or two or ten . . . a version where my children were endlessly charming and while the exhaustion of mothering five active, creative, imaginative children comes through the lines of the letters, I don't see much evidence of the sleepless nights wondering how to handle a troubling issue . . . the frustration of trying to find a way to teach a child a lesson that is vitally important that he/she master . . . the feelings of wondering if I am up to the deeply satisfying but also incredibly stretchy, overwhelming task of nurturing the minds and spirits and characters of five very precious children.
And those omissions are not surprising . . . I mean, who wants to air their dirty laundry . . . expose all their messy unfinishedness to people they are linked to and who have at least an emotional stake in our ability to juggle all those tasks, all those responsibilities . . . ?
We WANT people who matter to us (and even some who do not) to think well of us . . .
That is only natural . . .
Sooooo . . . what IS the happy medium between brutal truth (from our perspectives) and guarding (and even trying to shape) the image that others have of us? Where can one comfortably (for all parties concerned) walk the line between authenticity and sugar coating?
These ARE all vitally important issues to be considered . . .
Let me make it clear here that I do not wish to write 'so and so is a heinous bitch' or 'whatz-his-bucket is a selfish pig' . . . because, honestly, I rarely think of people in terms like that . . . I know how multifaceted human beings are . . . how filled with inconsistencies and frailties . . . and I really try to give other people the benefit of the doubt, even when their actions and words are hurtful and baffling and disappointing . . . As human beings, we are NOT all black or all white . . .
People are . . . well . . . complicated . . . we are EACH a bundle of strengths and weaknesses . . . talents and flaws . . . good and evil . . . NONE of us are completely finished products . . .
People -- ALL people -- sometimes hurt and disappoint . . . we sometimes make good choices, and sometimes make very poor choices . . . it is human nature, I think, to try to rewrite our own personal histories to make ourselves the good guy in our stories, and OTHER people the ones at fault for anything that might have gone wrong . . .
And by that same token, we all have things we like about ourselves, that we enjoy getting patted on the back for . . . and there are aspects to our characters, choices and past actions that we would rather not have broadcast to the world, even hypothetically, to be dissected by people who do not love us, do not think well of us and don't care if we are humiliated by their judgments and assessments . . .
So . . . um . . . yeah . . . blogging is complicated . . .
Perhaps what I really need is a pseudonym and a completely anonymous, 'secret' blog where I can truly bare my soul to the universe . . . but that defeats the main purpose for THIS blog . . . If what I share is secret and anonymous, then it does not help my extended family and friends to know me . . . to TRULY come to know ME . . . if they should ever have that desire . . .
And when it comes right down to it . . . isn't that the greatest gift we can give one another? The freedom to share exactly who and what we are without fear of rejection or judgment? Of COURSE other people have opinions . . . especially if our choices and actions ripple out to affect them . . . How could they NOT care and speculate on what is best?
But the comfort and freedom of feeling SAFE to share and bare ones soul . . .
THAT would be the gift of a lifetime . . .
Sooooo . . . um . . . yeah . . . Trying to integrate all that concern and sensitivity and awareness while trying to authentically share my life experiences and thoughts and insights is a very tricky tightrope to walk . . .
I suspect that is why I have so much trouble blogging here . . .
SIGH . . .
But even so . . . I INTEND to keep trying to do so . . .
Maybe there is a way . . .
