NaBloPoMo is over and a shadow of silence falls over this blog.
It was easier when I felt like I had to do this every day. Easier when I felt like there were expectations. It was easier for me to force whatever nonsense was in my head out and onto the keyboard because it was fulfilling a duty, meeting a requirement.
I have never pretended that I thought people actually like coming here. My brain is absolutely incapable of that thought. You come because you are my family. You come because you knew me when I wore braces and cords on my glasses and dreamt of New Kids in the Block each and every night. If you are here because you like what I write, then I think that you might be a figment of my imagination. And wishful thinking is so not my style.
And now we get to my demons, again. It seems that negativity and introspection is all I have these days. And I don’t want to bore anyone with that. I fel like I owe you something great, because you take the time to come here, but I feel so little greatness right now.
On Friday I felt light as air. I fired myself from my remaining freelance projects for this year, because was falling woefully behind and beginning to drown under teh weight of missed deadlines and looming responsibility. So, I did what I’m normally incapable of doing, and I admitted I couldn’t do it. I was relieved to see it all go away.
But that feeling didn’t last long. Relief has subsided, replaced by incompetence. Incompetence? Perhaps, unworthiness. Another tick mark in the belt of non-success. Like NaBloPoMo. Like breastfeeding. Like an unmedicated, natural birth.
I don’t want you to feel like you own any of this. My feelings of inferiority are mine. It’s nobody’s fault that I think 1000 people are out there doing this beter than I can. Doing what, precisely? I don’t know. Everything. They are better bloggers, they are better mothers, they are better designers, more organized, more creative…
Better. Better. Better.
But the fact that I believe that is no one’s fault. It’s my job to work it out. To move through it. To question that belief and move on.
I just don’t know if I can do this in front of you. What I have other than this—to write and to share with you—I just don’t know. But I don’t expect you to come bear witness to my introspective, navel-gazing. Right now, I don’t have anything else.