lots of rambling but that's ok

So much for my plan to write every day. My blog is proof that yet again, this goal got pushed to the wayside in favor of other obligations and activities. Although I certainly have not written every single day, I must admit that I have written far more than I have posted in recent weeks. I have found myself once again stuck in that rut where I feel that I absolutely must write something worthwhile or else I should just not post anything at all. What is it inside me that propels me toward this mindset? Why is it that I feel I must write something "worthy" and who actually judges what is "worthy" vs "unworthy" anyways? It is time I let go a bit more and allow myself to indulge in the sheer pleasure of writing. It is time that I accept that there does not always have to be a purpose for my writing, or even a particular topic, or even an audience at all. I first began writing many years ago and in the beginning, my writing had nothing to do with anyone but myself. I simply wrote to write, to release whatever was inside of me, to put it out in the universe in some way. I did not feel the need to be the "best" writer or even a "great" writer...I just wrote. It's time I got back to those roots.

I have realized that in all the chaos of my daily life, I have begun to neglect too much of my personal life...the stuff that is all about me. I have not touched a paintbrush all summer and have only done a few minimalist sketches. As noted above, my writing has taken a backseat to other activities. Even my reading materials have leapt from meaningful memoirs and poetry to silly romance novels. Now I am not saying there is anything wrong with reading Nicholas Sparks. I must admit I am a sucker for a good love story. But my new direction in activities this summer has left me feeling a bit empty, and I am certain of the reason.

The older I get, the more life experiences I endure, the more I come to know more about who I truly am on the inside...the real me. Here are but a few of the things I have learned about myself with the passage of time...

I read celeb gossip magazines and romance novels as a means of escape and distraction. Though I do need a healthy dose of them each summer to decompress from the stress of school and work, I also know that this is not the literature that inspires me. The authors/books that do inspire me... the journals of Anais Nin and Sylvia Plath, the poetry of Pablo Neruda, the travel memoirs of Frances Mayes, and the artsy inspirational books of SARK and Sabrina Ward Harrison.

I have a major case of perfectionism that carries over into everything I do. It is why I struggle to find the motivation to clean my house...once I start, it becomes a full-day (or more) process before I am satisfied that it is indeed clean. It is the reason I do not pursue art more...the images in my head never seem to match what appears on the paper or canvas and I end up berating myself for creating a "ridiculous" piece of work. It is why I doubt myself time and time again when writing a paper or a blog or the beginnings of my dissertation.

Connected to my perfectionism is a desire (desperate at times) to please others and gain the approval of others. As strongly as I want to NOT care what others think of me, I am bombarded with periodic moments of panic when I worry that I have not done everything I could have possibly done in a situation. At times, I am overcome with a generalized sense that I am "not enough" or that I am "too much". And it leaves me with the realization that until I can fully accept myself, I will never feel that I am fully accepted by others. ***this is an issue that comes and goes for me***

Beyond all this, there are certain things I know to be true for myself...likes and dislikes, preferences that I have come to realize are my own throughout the years. I love vintage things...clothes, postcards, books...and what I love most about vintage things are the stories I imagine that accompany them. I love leg warmers, especially in the winter but also when blasting the AC in the house during the summer months. I love olives and hummus and just about every vegetable that exists. With an endless supply of vegetables and occasional fish and sushi, I could be perfectly content with never eating another piece of meat (though that has nothing to do with ethics and is solely about my personal taste buds). I love to read out loud, the sound of my voice as each word is formed, experimenting with it and discovering new "favorite" words (usually based on the sound of the word alone). I am extremely sentimental and always prefer the free/cheap but very meaningful gift over anything designer brand. In fact, I cannot fathom spending an excessive amount of money on something simply because of the brand...though I must admit I tend to splurge on actual Pop-Tarts over the generic brands (there are just some things that don't taste the same in generic). I am one of the friendliest people you may ever meet and yet I am also very much of a home-body. I typically dread the occasional outings to loud clubs or parties and nearly always prefer a low-key evening at home with friends. One of my biggest pet peeves in the sound of someone making smacking noises while eating food...this literally grates my nerves to the point that I often have to bite my tongue in order to restrain myself from grabbing their food and slinging it across the room. I cannot stand sitting in traffic for over an hour to get to work and will never be a "city girl" in my heart. Give me the mountains or the beach or the desert...anything where I am immersed in nature and I am happy. When camping, I prefer that there not be public restrooms with showers...part of the joy of camping is bathing in the lake and peeing behind trees. My most prized possessions are my pictures and my books, not necessarily in that order. My two dogs are absolute terrors most days (though they are angels when separated) but that cocked-head, innocent look makes me fall in love with them all over again every single day. I love the feeling of nostalgia, music from many decades ago, sepia photographs, freshly cut grass, the feel of my fingers dancing across piano keys, thunderstorms, and little boy's white wife-beater undershirts from Walmart. I don't like feeling disorganized, insomnia, rude people, or science fiction. I am fascinated by forensics and anything to do with medicine and surgery (other than vomiting), but cannot seem to get even slightly interesting in "Law & Order". And the list could go on...

Excuse the rambling, but as I've promised myself I would just write whatever came to mind, I am going to actually post this and let go of the worries that it has no "purpose". The purpose is internal, even if I am still unsure of what it is.

Until next time...hopefully soon...