Writing

I was on a roll there. Now it's gone.

It's funny, I've never been much of a writer. Well that's not true. I've always been a prolific writer, but a very self-critical one. This is why none of my journals from before I moved to Australia still exist - I found them, read them and was so mortified by the complete rubbish they contained that I had to destroy them. Bummer. I'm sure I'd find them all really interesting now.

In high school English classes, I found the writing really hard because I was such a perfectionist. Each reading, I would make multiple insignificant changes and feel such relief, like thank goodness I didn't turn it in in that state, that would have been so embarrassing. Then I'd read through "one last time" and find more changes, and more, and more, and never really got to a point where I felt completely satisfied with my work. And then I'd get an A+ and wonder if I was too pedantic or if my teacher wasn't paying close enough attention.

I'm not sure what changed really. I never would have been able to write a blog back then. I spent a lot of Nate's early years on parenting forums, and in the beginning it would take me a ridiculously long time to write a simple post. I would read and re-read and wonder, does this make me sound smug? permissive? strict? hypocritical? judgmental? Regardless of my efforts, I have still been misunderstood so many times. Maybe I have learned that all of the proof-reading doesn't really help me avoid being seen the way I'm going to be seen. People see what they want to see, or what they need to see to keep their stories flowing.

Really, it's a whole lot easier to just write and not give a fuck what people are going to think. I need to write. I can see me in the future (because there are less distractions in the future), sitting in front of this computer, processing every thought that goes through my head. I feel like the more I write, the more material I have. I swear, people, there's so much atrophied brain in here. Parenting does wonders for the heart and for the soul, but it somehow manages to suck away my intelligence. Definitely my memory has suffered. And my focus. But every time I write, my brain wakes up a little bit.

To writing.