It’s been some time since I posted something worthwhile, since I wrote anything of substance, since I actually sat with myself and be okay to explore what’s sufficient of me.
Here’s the ugly truth: I never quite know what to post here. When I come across some really witty quote, I’d think ‘Hah! Great for a post!’ – then I actually start to live life, and the blogging just seems too distant a part, too other-worldly, too artificial and non-solid for me to engage in when I’m actually out there. Or how do you know if you’ve revealed too much of yourself? And words are such that once the impact is hit, the damage is done – you can never quite reconstruct or alter or erase it from someone else’s memory, and that’s when it dawns on you: You’ve said too bloody much. You’re too exposed and too vulnerable, like a clown in front of a gaping audience as you try out your juggling and skipping, self-conscious both when you fall and when you don’t.
A lot of people can tell me what to do – heck, you-can-he-can-she-can, yet you’re still only voicing what’s already in my head. I have all the intellectual answers, I am too old for my age, I’ve surpassed all this ‘self-exploration’ and ‘self-discovery’ – yet I’m still not there.
If life was really meant for us to just grow up, do the self-discovery crap, have kids, lug through fifty years of cooking-cleaning-careering, then I’m really not supposed to understand God.