I found a cute button (yes, the kind you stitch to clothes) the other day. I thought I’d blog about it because, well… I won’t tell you why; I still want to blog about it at some point. Then I found a lady on the subway, and then a whole story as I made my way home a few weeks ago. I reflected upon many subjects and yet time and time again, abstained from writing… because I am afraid.
I have many fears, you see. I suppose we all do, only some of us are more honest about them than others. That or I try to console myself thinking everyone fears as I do. Whatever the case, among those fears I count the one impeding me to write whenever I feel like it; it’s too daunting, too exhausting, too demanding and too revealing. It’s too personal and at times leaves me in pieces. According to Charles Bukowski I should not write, then, for it doesn’t come out like a air escaping a deflating balloon. To him I say – or would, were he alive -, I dare to disagree Mr. Bukowski, for sometimes it’s that we cherish most we tend to stay away from for fear of screwing it up.
Writing might not come roaring out of me every time – though it almost always does – and I may fear every time I start pouring words over this blog, I will have nothing to say, or that it will be garbage or that I will reveal how fearful I am. More than that, however, I fear being silent, losing my voice and never daring to confront the daunting scenario of a blank page.
I know that by the time I finish this post I will have gotten to no point, shed no pearls of wisdom or inspired children to become like me, but I will, at least this one time, have defeated the fear of silence telling me I cannot write, and I will continue to do so; at day and night, when no one reads and when no appealing titles can be found. After all, I lose nothing but some sleep when I sit here and type.
Perhaps, just perhaps, I need to take the same approach towards the many other fears in my life; perhaps I am just to take momentum and do all I fear I am not capable of and then realize I’ve defeated the fears of the unknown. As far as writing at least, it does me good. I get to hear my keyboard’s chirping type at night and conjure beautiful syllables of the words I am so enthralled by.
So here… we have arrived. To the place of no destination, to no man’s land. I have said nothing and yet I feel oh so much a writer tonight.