I want to write about something that I write about a lot. Taking risks. But I don’t want to write about it in the same way.
Instead, I want to share something else. As I sit here, propped up in my bed, typing at an awkward angle to prop up my new tattoo (it stings now), I let the lyrics of my favorite Avett Brothers songs drift around my room.
“There was a dream,
and one day I could see it.
Like a bird in a cage, I broke in
and demanded that somebody free it.”
(BTW – I’m not imagining it, I actually have their Red Rocks performance of Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise playing.)
I’m writing in my Moleskin journal – a journal that once housed a lot of hopes, aspirations, etc.
Now it’s falling apart because I’ve ruined the binding. I love how the paper feels-so, have rationalized constantly ripping pieces out when I want to write a letter or a prayer. On this occasion, it’s the latter.
I must have 50+ prayers written out. They’ve littered most of my closet – along with the pictures, drawings, and cards I’ve carefully taped up. I’ve used expensive stationary, scraps of white paper, post-its – but nothing quite makes words feel more special or important like the perfect weight and texture of Moleskin paper, along with a inky black pen.
Inspired by the beautiful words of the Avetts, and the meticulous lines of my little bird, (I think I just realized why I wanted this tattoo), I started to write a somewhat typical start to how I write all of my prayers –
“Thank you for the clarity you’ve given me. Thank you for helping me rediscover myself – rediscover what it feels to fight for something.
The truth is, I’d rather try. I’d always rather try. I don’t ever want to feel like I played it safe. I’ve done that. I’ve felt the consequences of it. I’m starting to understand that not trying, in fear or rejection, discomfort – it’s never worth the absence of that certainty of giving it everything.
I miss the feeling of trying, risking everything…”
Then I stopped. Something didn’t quite feel right. I was writing about being vulnerable, about putting myself out there. But I was writing it on a sheet of paper that no one would read. Yes, I was trying to talk to God, but I was being hypocritical – taking those words and locking them up in a dark, quiet place that they were safe.
Wasn’t I just saying I didn’t want to play it safe?
Who knows – maybe I just want to feel heard. I don’t doubt for a second that God hears me – that he sees, hears and feels everything – but I do doubt that he wants me to confine myself within four walls.
So I want to do something different with this post. I want to share with you, reader – an unpolished, real look at me, as I am now. As if I were going to just shut all of this behind a door, where I knew I didn’t have to show anyone.
The truth is, I worry that everything I write is fluffy bullshit. I’m scared that I don’t travel enough – and that the infrequency takes away from how “mine” it is. I think I’ll always just share a little too much, I’ll push things a little too far – and the intensity of my enthusiasm will always portray me as being naive or desperate. I’m scared I’ll never actually publish anything. I’m scared my family will eventually tire of the distance between my visits, and stop caring if I come home at all.
I fear I’ll wake up one day and panic that I don’t have a family of my own. I’m also concerned that I’ve seldomly wanted one. I worry that being almost 29, and single after two long term relationships says something bad about me. I hate even admitting that – that when it comes to dating and marriage, I feel like a failure. I’m scared to even write it down, as if saying it out loud will immediately send out some kind of negative vibe to the opposite sex.
Because if everyone can see you’re vulnerable and a little hurt by how your life has turned out, it takes away from your intrigue and confidence – right?
(Plus, I always tend to text first. I’m super impatient when it comes to guys.)
I worry that, being 29 and not accomplishing things I thought I would by now, also says something bad about me. I worry that not always wanting to slather food with hot sauce, or opting to stay in and play Scrabble, means I’m less adventurous than I thought I was. I see other people – quitting their jobs and globe-trotting, taking Instagram pics on the backs of elephants, or at the top of some mountain – and wonder if I’m missing out on something. I worry I haven’t put myself out there as much as I should have by now.
Also, I’m quite concerned that I post things to Facebook too much.
I’m not 100% on what the point of this post was, but I feel braver. It’s one thing to talk about things in hypothetics – hopes, fears, disappointments – but it’s another to face them. And I’m trying to do that more.
I’m trying to get from behind my computer, out from behind all of my little journals, cliches, and long, elaborate posts that don’t have any grit. I want to dig into the most honest, vulnerable parts of myself.
This is a good place to start.