A tickle in my brain, a thought, while flicking a finger over a phone screen, eyes cataloging scraps of thoughts on Instagram. Are there people there impassioned? Of course, absolutely, loudly. I myself, at some points, felt the passion for sharing surge in little square pictures and truncated captions filled with hashtags. I fell in love with it, with the ease and connection. The full intention to build a presence and community, a leaping point for friendship and connection. But the passion filled souls of humanity were never going to stick it out forever.
Passion and empowerment does not come from filters and fear. Wild thinking, honesty filled friendships do not emerge from the regurgitation of fed ideals. A heap of catalysts and deep self reflection made it clear that a shift in my inner workings was coming, perhaps too late or exactly on time, and it would. not. be. ignored. If someone I deem worth my time cannot find it in themselves to stay in touch, then it was not a friendship or a connection meant to be. If the only ‘keeping up’ we do is via a social media outlet, we are not the friendship I crave. If my words of truth, written plainly and exactly from my heart, are not welcome, then I don’t want that connection in the first place. It is done, and time, and I am ready.
And then, to read. Do I read anything of worth? Do I consume value? I scroll aimlessly and it burns time. The occasional chuckle or interesting read, yes. But the vast amount of my time is spent annoyed and bored, or anxious. A bizarre tangle we have with our technology, one that has never occurred before in humanity. And I believe it may be time to begin the extraction, in fragments. I say, chortling at myself, as I write a god damned blog on the god damned internet. Baby steps, I tell myself. Baby steps to be print on paper, a chunky book that sits upon the coffee tables and bookshelves of admirable human beings. I’ll get there, and maybe transparency is the gateway.
For transparency sake, I am writing this in Word. I am writing this without a blog ‘set up’, and without knowing if I’ll ever do it or if I’ll write to empty space forever. But I’m not sure if it matters as much as I used to think it did. Because my heart is doing that skip-hop it does when my fingers fly over keys and my mind is finally free to burst forth. It is the song and dance of the writer within, the woman who has been kept behind the bars of ‘too much’ for a really long time, bound only by her own insecurities. The last time a blog was out in the world, full of herself in all the raw glory of an unfiltered author, it didn’t really matter. I didn’t really matter. Everything is new and different now, and if I do share these words, I have the feeling it’s the beginning of the beginning for me. A muscle being stretched for the first time in years, and it really fucking hurts. Hurts so good it’s something like a high. And I missed the hell out of it.
So why would I waste my time on the consumption of garbage? I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t. I can’t believe I have. I must change, I must cast off so much I know and I am used to just because it’s easy and comfortable, and learn to get really uncomfortable. The good things, the best things, are in the middle of uncomfortable.
Here I am, uncomfortable and impassioned and full of something unnamable. A drive, desire, push, pull, spark, fire. To move forward, to change, to become better. To do better and build the world I think is worth living in. I cannot continue to put my head down and trudge quietly. I will still forever see the best in everything, the silver lining and half full glass, the excitement in the fury. It’s the nature of me. But honesty does not negate positivity. Passion does not have to be reckless. There is a line, a balance, a carefully weighed and measured combination of everything I am that might be just right. And beauty is, if it’s not, I can change.
I can change, you can change, we can all change. Let’s make it for the better.