Input (Not) Required

I finally have a follower after 3-1/2 years blogging, but that's what I get for being so last decade and for not ever publicly announcing that I have a blog. Hi, my follower! (You know who you are!) I am still following your blog, but I had to change my setting to anonymous because I tend to be private with my thoughts, which is why I blog on a public site. Makes sense, huh?

I just felt like writing tonight for no particular reason other than my friend has been doing just that. Opening up. Brushing out the cobwebs. Seeing what's inside. Like me, she left Facebook when interactions with and observations of others began to drain her more than inspire her. A blog gave me more anonymity and therefore let me feel more vulnerable and perhaps more honest. Doing it publicly (anonymously since I don't tell anyone this blog exists), reminds me to write with purpose and not be self-indulgent or throw pity parties when I'm feeling down, or at least to use metaphors and creativity when I am so that the wallowing serves some purpose.

I like feeling vulnerable. Hold it. Check yourself. I like feeling vulnerable when I know I can be safe. Sounds like "someone" around here needs to check the definition of "vulnerable!" Yes, I am full of contradictions tonight. But wouldn't we all like a place where we can just be ourselves outside the comfort of our own living room. (The tragic revelation here, of course, is that we can be ourselves anywhere we go. We just choose not to do so, maybe for a good reason, or maybe because we simply do not feel safe being that vulnerable in the presence of others.)

I've kind of neglected my blog the past few months. I actually do think it's useful for a writer to keep a journal, no matter if the entries are thoughtful explorations, desperate outpourings, or simply a recounting of how a day was spent. Well, actual famous published writers probably do not have time for this indulgence, but people who just love the feel and sound of keys clicking beneath our finger tips believe such an indulgence is a pleasant and at times helpful diversion.

Click, click, clickity clack! I love it! 

Sometimes I don't write because I think no one will be interested, but then that is part of vulnerability--taking a risk. That really is a low-level risk, isn't it? "So and so wrote a blog about her day that wasn't very interesting!" The truth of it is that we just can't always register high on people's priority lists.

But can we feel secure knowing that sometimes we won't? For someone who has spent a lot of time giving her self-esteem a major overhaul, this may sound like yet another contradiction, but I think I am on to something here. Isn't a relief to not worry that you might not always be the most important thing to others? I mean, at least you wouldn't have to get over shock of realizing that. 

As I write this, I am actually working. It's the middle of the night, and I'm on a conference call with India. It's a Friday night/Saturday morning. We started at 11:15 Friday night, and it's now 1:15 Saturday morning. I have spoken maybe 30 words. I have nothing to offer in this meeting, yet I am required to be here.  Sometimes my input really matters. Sometimes it doesn't. I've learned to not let that be a personal indictment.

But as it pertains to my life, my input is required! Here is one of the places I can specifically track my input. Over the last several months, I've ignored this blog, which is supposed to be a log of my input, on a fairly regular basis because I felt I didn't have anything very interesting to say. So what if it's not interesting to other people that I spent a Friday night perfecting a Cuban sandwich or that I experienced incredible weather swings of winter clouds, spring storms, and summer sunshine inside an hour on Sunday while out riding my bike! I want to remember my input and to keep it in check. I want to see what's inside here even when I feel empty. I almost always learn that I am not empty at all, only muddled. Output requires my input! Let's clean up this messy brain! Let's work those metaphor muscles! Sweat!