Having so many people know about this little space of mine is both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because, hello? I kinda like the recognition that goes along with being a "Digital Mom". Otherwise, I'd be keeping a handwritten journal tucked into my bedside drawer.
And there are perks. Making extra money, meeting new people, experiencing new opportunities. These are all adventures I've been lucky enough to embark on because of this blog.
I've been doing this for almost 5 years now. Reading Alexa's elegant prose made something click inside of me. YES, THIS. THIS IS WHAT I DO. THIS IS HOW I WANT IT TO BE:
"I often think that reading—most art, really—is like a vast, temporally flexible game of Marco Polo. (Not the most sophisticated metaphor, but there you go.) We are desperate to see reflections of our own lives and experiences pinned down and made richer and more coherent with language. They help us understand ourselves and our world, and give us the relief of knowing that we’re all in this together. I wrote a whole damn memoir, for god’s sake, and I wrote it because I know firsthand the loneliness of being unable to find an echo. When some woman carrying one live baby and one dead one, or sitting next to an isolette, whispers “Marco!” I want my book, flawed as it is, to be the “Polo!” called reassuringly back to her."
My main goal for this blog is to have you, my readers, relate to me. I want someone reading this to get the sense of, "Whew. Glad I'm not the only one who feels/thinks/does that!"
You guys are the "Polo!" to my "Marco!"
And for that I am thankful.
Yes, I'm keeping it real. But I'm not keeping it really real.
I am aware of my audience. I know who the people are who read this.
Family. Friends. Co-workers.
There are just certain things I don't write about. That I wish I could.
Anger. Frustrations. Annoyances. Things that I would just love to be able to VENT about and have someone come back and say, "Hey, sometimes I feel that way too. You are NOT alone."
But I can't, at the risk of offending. Or hurting feelings. Or making things worse. So I don't.
So here it stays, inside of me. All bottled up.
Truth is? I am struggling right now. Trying to figure out where my Happy went. Trying to figure out why it disappeared. And trying to figure out how to get it back.