So…. I hit a milestone of sorts yesterday. Someone who reads this blog commented on my editing. Seems I’ve missed putting out the absolute cleanest in sentence structure and she enjoys proofreading what I write.
I’m trying to get over this, but I admit it’s hard. I also know that she’s going to read this (I really didn’t know before even though you thought I did), but I can’t help that. It’s what’s on my mind and that’s what this is about.
Why is it hard? Isn’t this a big, silly fuss over something so insignificant? I’m perfectly aware that I’m not the cleanest writer or editor in the world. That’s not it. It’s that this blog is a journey that’s hard to make at times and it takes a bit of fortitude to do it. The comments have been so supportive and I’d figured, if someone didn’t like what they read, they’d kept it to themselves. So, this first criticism directed at me, caught me off. It’s like flaying myself open and having someone comment about the color of the blade I use. (Okay, I also cop to being a total drama queen with that one but the analogy was too sweet to pass up.)
Here goes… It’s okay.
Several years ago, someone asked me, on behalf of someone else, why I was delving into my psyche to try to recover lost gaps of time. I was working on filling in the blanks. She wondered why I couldn’t just leave it alone and move on with my life. Good question. It took me a little while to answer, but I can now.
As I go through life, I encounter those points when I look at myself in utter bewilderment and ask, “Why in the world would I do / feel like / act like that? I hate that!” There came a point when the answer, “I don’t know” was not enough. The only answer I could accept of myself became, “I don’t know, but I’m going to figure it out because I don’t like it and don’t want to keep doing it.” See, there was no moving on. There was only a continual vicious circle of self-destructive behaviour looping back on itself and I was done, done, done.
It’s hard work, but I’m happier.
This chain of consciousness blog isn’t supposed to serve any purpose other than just that — processing my chain of consciousness. I’m not trying to get people to like me. Hey, don’t get me wrong. I like when people like me, but that’s not why I’m writing.
I’ve gotten glimmers of this tipping point before now. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t really know who reads this but encounters out in the world have given me clues. I’ll see someone at a play or something and they’ll make an inside comment that can only be based on something they read here. That’s super cool. I appreciate the comments. Thanks. You’ve been really nice about it.
This is the first criticism I’ve gotten. That’s cool, too. It was also inevitable. Which brings me back to the original point of this post…
Am I going to grow a thicker skin as a result? Probably not. I would have done that a long time ago if I could.
Am I going to retreat? No. Even though, that is my habitual first line of defense.
Am I going to find humor in the situation? Yeah. But, it took writing this post this morning to find it.
Am I going to get over it? Oh yeah. Probably. Maybe. Maybe with a dash of brooding.
Am I going to invite more criticism? Not actively, I confess. I’m not that brave. Yet. But, it will happen.
And, that’s okay.
Susan Scot Fry
I received an un-birthday card in the mail yesterday. It said, “May your eyes continue to see beautiful and significant things, and your soul dance to good music.” On the inside, it said, “Keep your eyes open and your spirit dancing!”
Wow. Thank you.