Home Again, Home Again

It has come to my attention, of late, that the very purpose which I set out to fulfill in this blog has been undermined. I originally wanted to write, to update simply for the sake of jotting down my thoughts. I wanted to force myself to write....not to write anything spectacular or even very good. Just to write. More specifically, as the subtitle of the blog suggests, I wanted to "write what I want."

Unfortunately, as the blog gained a few curious readers, mostly friends of mine, I began to feel a pressure to update. Not only that, but I began to feel a pressure to update with meaningful content. It ruined the original intent. And that is a problem I've found in my day to day life -- I care far too much about what other people think. I censor myself. I'm not speaking about being polite. Hmmm...how to word this...?

I am paranoid, worried that something I say will be misinterpreted. Sometimes, I'm even worried that things I'm trying to conceal will be unveiled by a poor choice of words (written or spoken). I worry a lot. I'm not sure it's evident to the rest of the world. Maybe it is. In any case, it's very true. I worry about my friends. I worry about what they think, what people think about them, how they're feeling. I worry about their well-being. If they're injured, I worry about them furthering their injury. If they're tired, I worry about them getting enough rest. If someone's cruel to them, I worry about them being hurt emotionally.

With myself, I think, I worry less. I tend to worry the most about the things over which I have no control. Much of my own well-being and how other people affect me is under my control. I tend to take care of myself (except for, maybe, that time when I had strep for three weeks). I know my own limits. I do worry about how I affect others, though. When I'm speaking to people about anything of significance, I often simultaneously figure out in my head how they could be interpreting our conversation. Many times, I'll have conversations with people, leave them, think it through and then regret the way I worded a few sentences, the tone I used, or some strange emphasis I made on a particular topic.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I decided to start typing and try not to edit myself too much. I'm trying to reclaim something of the "I write what I want" purpose. I suppose the fact that I'm back here typing again means it's working.

The hardest parts of these posts is the conclusions. I feel as though every one needs to end with some sort of "BANG." They each need a huge revelation to accompany them, some sort of wisdom to be imparted to the world. But, alas, I have no such revelation.

Today's blog is a rambling of the thoughts in my head. Some of my weakness. A piece of my mind, of my heart. The only solid conclusion that would really fit would, perhaps, be the acknowledgement that clearly all of this worrying isn't good. I need to give over to God my worries. I know that. In my head I know all of the right answers. But I'm tired of writing these booming conclusions where it sounds like I've had some glorious epiphany about myself. I'm tired of pretending that these are new lessons I'm learning. It simply isn't true.

I think that God will spend the rest of my life teaching me the same five lessons over and over again. It baffles my mind that it will take that long, that I won't be able to one day learn them all in my head and my heart and my body.

Alright, well that's enough of my thoughts for one night. I'm going to go search my closet for a magical hidden country. I'll write again soon.