meta-cowardice

I’ve been thinking about blogging quite a bit lately.

This may seem meta, but in a very real way, blogging may be the only way I can really communicate this–to others and to myself.

I’m stuck as a blogger.

It’s a familiar sensation. I feel like I don’t really have ideas–or the energy to create the post when I do have them. I feel an ennui that, if I think about it, is a little strange, as I’ve pretty much compulsively blogged since introduced to the form.

Oh, I think. I am a blocked artist in this area.

Why?

It’s pretty clear that other social media flows for me. (Well. Not Facebook, exactly. It’s the party that I don’t quite want to be at.)

But I know, from my experience of being blocked as a writer. Not some blank-page cartoon of writer’s block, but the one where slowly your joy is leaching out of you, and you keep writing because it’s who you are.

ANYWAY

blogging is as serious to me. But I do know that whatever it is, I’m probably being stopped mainly by fear.

Sure there’s a little bit of a sense that blogging is a dying form of communication. (I’m totally open to being proven wrong about this, but really: we have to wait a decade to see.)

But mainly, I’m worried I’ll be found out. Seen.

I write posts, and then only link to the ones I think are valuable.

What if the imaginary audience I don’t want to reach YET sees that I’m not a shiny perfect professional? What if I write something I truly mean and think is true and get net-lynched for it? What if I get haters?

What if I deserve it?

In an intersection of things that make you vulnerable on the internet, I sit closer to the middle of the Venn Diagram than most people. The fact that I know people who are even closer in the cross-hairs doesn’t encourage me–their horror stories are the things my heart latches onto, saying, “See? We’re a coward for a reason.”

And als0, “You don’t write anything that’s meaningful enough to be hated for anyway, what are you so self-important about.”

The truth is–I want to. I want to write about being a practicing Christian in a way that bucks both agnostic American norms and institutional Christian norms. (Not in cool ways, just in doesn’t-fit-in ways.) I want to write about being single at 30 in every way the culture lampoons, and feeling fine with it, despite not being sold on it.

I want to talk about saving lives, even if it’s absurd to claim anything I might do could do that.

I don’t know what will fix this block, but I’m hoping just posting this, despite it’s lack of thematic cohesion, and the possibility I’ll want to delete it later, might help.

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