My Cowardice

I am cowardly. I love the idea of posting things for everyone to read. I love the idea of complete strangers enjoying my writing enough to read more than the first sentence and at the same time it terrifies me. My last post has been "published" and deleted at least once and I'm wondering if I should do it again. What would someone stumbling upon this blog thing about a woman who spends most of her time writing about her cycle and poop.

I've thought too, because I would love to get more comments and more traffic, about giving out this address to more family and friends. But then I picture my sweet aunties reading about the "crimson tide" or my sister-in-law reading that I think she has control issues and I cringe. I don't know that I'm ready for quite this level of honesty with quite so many people. Then I think, "Maybe I should just delete EVERYTHING on this blog and start all over," or I could shorten that and just delete everything. I've read, multiple times in multiple places, that you shouldn't treat a blog like a journal as more and more prospective employers are reading applicants' blogs and allowing its content to effect possible or even current employment situations. I know you shouldn't believe everything you read, but I find that when more than one person tells me the same thing, it's generally true. And that scares me because, in the not so distant future, I will have to leave the comfort of my status quo SAHM life and find a job. (This scares me to death as well, but is a whole separate topic.)

Then there is the whole commenting on blogs or posting. I long to have smart conversations with other people about subjects that interest me. (I guess St. John's did rub off on me after all.) I tried to sign onto some LDS forums but the few times I posted I either didn't attract any comment, so timid were my posts, or I was too abrupt and wrong and was put in my place. I *hate* to be wrong. I try very, very hard not to be, a losing proposition I know and I'm trying to get over it but like periods and dog poop, it is what it is.

There is a blog I stumbled upon that I have very much enjoyed reading. A recent post was right up the alley of some religious issues I have been studying these last few years. I want to comment but I'm so afraid of saying the wrong thing and being taken to task. Or worse, I'm afraid that they will trace my comment back to my blog and then wonder even further, "Who is this nut who talks about random oddities and bodily functions?" I want so much to be adored and admired for my insights. I want to be proclaimed brilliant. And, knowing that none of that is going to happen, I hesitate to act.

This is one of my fundamental flaws: I want to be perfect and barring that, I don't want to be. I hesitate to sing solos in church because my voice is not up to Simon Cowell par. I hesitate to ever call myself a pianist because I can only play pieces that are quite simplified. I hesitate to think I can be a teacher or a writer or anything because I don't think I would be able to ever do it well enough. I know, I know. All great successes have failed multiple times. Thomas Edison. Albert Einstein. Michael Jordan. Abraham Lincoln. (Interesting that I can't list any women off the top of my head.) Somehow I expect to be better than all that and when my own humanity brings me crashing back to reality, I am stunned and saddened and more determined not to stick my neck out.

Hmmmm.....another example of my imperfections -- I'm having an increasingly difficult time ending these mini essays. I'm tired of tying them up with neat bows and lessons learned because, quite frankly, I generally haven't actually learned the lesson and could probably write the same blog next month. But the romanticist in me (did you see my profile and how all my favorite movies are romances??) wants the happy ending, the neat and tidy explanation with no loose ends. Life isn't like that though. It's terribly messy and sticky and chaotic and maze-like. So, I guess this just is what it is. I am a coward and this blog is a supposed step of bravery, although I hesitate to call any of these vague ramblings and statements of vehement dislike regarding my monthly flux "bravery."