Does it Matter?

      Sometimes I feel like writing. Then I start to think about the process of writing and I get stalled. "Who am I writing for?"  "What am I going to say?",  and "Is what I'm going to say interesting?" are all questions that stall me. The question I feel I should be asking is "Does it matter?" If I feel like writing I should write. 

      This is something kids are really good at doing. Kids are full of wonder, curiosity and openness. (Most)Kids don't take other people's reactions into consideration when they decide to do something, they just do it. As adults, we try to teach them about socially acceptable behaviors and unwritten rules of society to save them from the anguish that being "the weird one" in school/work/sports. At the same time however, kids are sacrificing instinctual, unadulterated joy and enthusiasm with which they approach life. This makes me sadder than words can express. 

     Maybe the grown ups in the world should take a lesson from their younger selves and worry about what makes them happy.

Ch... ch... ch... changes

               Recently, I thought I had things under control. I was filled with a sense of optimism and determination. That lasted all of a week before I was back to old habits. I'm never sure what triggers these bouts of productivity and their subsequent disappearing act. However, one thing I AM sure of is that I've been going through this cycle for far too long. It is far too easy for me to give in and do what is comfortable instead of doing what is necessary. And as much as I know intellectually that this is self-destructive behavior I can't stop it.
              I've never been good at asking for help. I know that part of the reason for this is that, as a kid I always had to be the responsible one. Never mind that I'm damn near the youngest one in my family. Never mind that I've inherited a whole lot of anxious tendencies from my mom or that I grew up with contradicting messages about "appropriate" behavior for women. I had to do it all and was made to feel guilty when I didn't. It's only in the past 5 years that I've come to realize how much this has truly affected me.
           One would think that since I realized this I would be able to change on my own. Yeah....right. I know I need support to change. I also know that I'm uncomfortable with getting the help I need. I'm afraid of failing to change. I'm afraid that the support won't truly be there. Too many times I've hoped for support from those closest to me. Too many times I've asked for support and been let down. I'm tired of hoping. I'm tired of feeling inadequate and not worthy of people's time and resources. Logically, I know I'm exaggerating but damned if it doesn't FEEL real.
         I'm stuck in my own Cathch-22. I need help accepting help but I can't do it unless I take the first step and ask for help. Essentially, I'm fucked.  

Reader but not a writer

          I've always found it funny how , even though I LOVE reading, I am a horrible writer. Yes, I can write eloquently when the need arises but the process is so difficult that I end up staring at a blank page for 30 minutes before getting frustrated and pounding out an above average piece of work in 10 minutes. If I'm completely honest with myself though, that's how most things in my life are. I am a procrastinator.

          Anyone that knows me knows that I have strong opinions. (Anyone who knows me also knows this is a huge understatement.) Sometimes when I am asked for my opinion on something I explain it in a very disjointed manner. I feel like I have many ideas and reasons for my opinions but that I cannot explain them directly. I have to explain one concept so that my main concept makes sense. Somehow I know that this and my lack of creative writing ability are tied together. I'm not sure how but the link is there.

          Sometimes I wonder if it isn't all just related to this anxiety I have around uncertainty.