I keep wanting to write here lately, but every time I crack open the laptop, my inspiration is gutted by fear.
There are so many things that I could not write about over the last couple of years, because I knew that my anonymity would not last forever. I knew that my love of blogging and design and writing in general would bring me to a point where I no longer wanted to conceal my legal name, and so I played it safe when it came to subject matter. I likely would have played it safe anyway out of respect for other individuals and their right to privacy, but my eventual loss of anonymity definitely played a role in what I have chose to write about online.
Recently, with my creation of the Canadian Weblog Awards and my new writing gig over at Life As A Human, I have dropped that anonymity, and, while it feels like a mouldy old coat that has outlived its usefulness, I feel like maybe I should have worn another layer of clothing under it, because right now I feel like my whole naked self is laid bare under a giant magnifying glass.
And so, the relative quiet here.
I say "relative", because I've still been posting, but there has been very little meat stuck in between strings of photos, a meme, lists, and other motley chaffe.
Over the last few years, after many years of hiding my true self away from everyone, especially from those closest to me, I have been making a slow trek into the land of living out loud. This trek began with blogging, because within it I found a space in which I could stretch my creative legs with other people who were also stretching their creative legs, and suddenly I wasn't cramming all the parts of myself up into the dark interior of my skull where no one could see them, least of all me.
Anonymity or not, I have been as honest as I know how here for the last six-and-a-half years running, but having my name from non-internet life attached to my internet life means living out LOUDER, and each step away from living up inside my head to living out loud in the world terrifies the ever-lovin' bejeezus out of this fraidy cat.
This fraidy cat's heart and soul, though, is fed by living out loud in the world.
So, here I am. I have to be.
Alice Bradley says that "[it’s] okay to write because you want to be loved", and Adam P. Knave tells me to "kick the motherfucker [fear] in the face so it remembers who’s in charge around here", and they're really smart people who get nominated for the Pushcart Prize and write novels and stuff, so I'm going to listen to them. I am going to love and be loved and kick stuff to the curb to make room for new stuff ad nauseum until I get this right, and then I'm going to go through that whole revolution again until I get it right again, and then again, because this being alive thing is terminal, and I don't want to waste any more time, loved or not, brilliant or not.
So, here I am, and I'm staying.