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| A silver hair I found on my jeans: a piece of me |
I was sweeping and singing and thinking last night when I was overcome with the memory of a feeling. I remembered how I used to feel when I had written something and was waiting for reactions. I remembered how my feelings would react to those reactions.
I remembered feeling as though the reactions to my writing were reactions to me. I remember thinking, how could I not feel this way? My writing is me. I word everything precisely; I compose a rhythm meant to match my meaning; I spend as long as hours on one sentence to be certain it is a true sentence, that it says what I mean as much as a sentence can.
Most of my writing, once published, is literally the process of me stripping my ideas and beliefs naked, peeling each layer intimately and purposely, attempting to share a peek of everything with a reader. Any possible reader. It is vulnerable, and it is me.
Yet now, it occurred to me as I looked around for my dustpan, I react to reactions slightly differently. Even though I still write in that same way, I still compose the words and rhythm in a way meant to expose myself, I no longer feel as though it is me readers are reacting to. It is the writing, the ideas in the writing, the piece itself they are reacting to.
I still care, I still hope it is understood and appreciated, I admit to still hoping it is seen as beautiful or important or intriguing. I hope these things not for me, but for the piece of writing.
Which, I admit, is a piece of me.
But a piece of me isn't me.
I filled the dustpan - it had been on the back of the couch - and threw away the debris (tiny pieces of our day) and the song I was sweeping along to changed. It was time to dance.
As I closed my eyes and sang too loud and encouraged the movement of my body to take me away, to bring me to where dancing brings me, I recognized the similarities between the feelings of freedom and self-expression I have while writing that I also have while dancing. But though the feelings are similar, they are executed differently.
My writing is meant to be shared. I want it shared. It is not the same experience for me if it is not intended to be shared, if I don't imagine it being shared. Whether or not there ever is a reader on the other side, I always write with a reader in mind. When I write only for me I am lazy. I don't search for the precise phrasing because searching for the precise phrasing is intense and, well, hard work. If it's for only me I simply think, "I know what I mean," and move on lazily. I need to imagine you in order to do the work that, ultimately, is always worth doing. Even though, admittedly, it's me I know it to be worth it for.
My dancing, however, is solitary. It is for me and me alone. I don't mind that others are often there, but their reactions to my dancing, if they choose to have them, are meaningless to me. The music, the movement, it brings me to the universe and brings the universe to me and though others are in the universe my dancing feels alone as a universe. You do not need to understand. I'm not concerned about whether others find it beautiful or important or intriguing. It is all those things for me and that's what it's for. It is a piece of me meant for me.
As the song ended and my voice cracked and my breathing was kicked up a notch, I was happy.
I'm glad I'm no longer made so vulnerable by my writing that reactions to it feel like reactions to a raw exposed me.
I love that I still write to discover and share these pieces of me, and that I still care about my writing enough to want it seen as beautiful or important or intriguing.
I love that I can dance. Wild. Loud. With no boundaries.
I'm happy that I'm able to celebrate and explore these pieces in a home that makes room for all of me.
I hope I am doing the same for everyone in my world. Regardless of what their pieces look like or how strange they may seem to me, I hope I encourage growth, speech, individuality, and uniqueness.
My mom taught us how to do that with my brothers, find a balance between precisely working on ourselves in consideration of others and the freedom of dancing with wild abandon for the sake of ourselves, and I hope I forever remember to do that for anyone around me.
I love, so much, that it is done for me.
Hugs, smiles, and love!!!
