I am meant to be a communicator, you see.
If I were meant to be a graphic designer you better believe that this would be one pimped out motha’ and it would look like Pinterest and Anthropologie had a lovechild that married one of those pretty-faced, half-shaved headed hipster girls. However, since you theoretically have vision as you read this, you can see this blog is simple and very unpimped.
It is my naked words on a nearly blank page.
I should state that I am a jealous fangirl of the artsy, graphic design tribe. I want to be a member of that tribe (sinfully so) and whip up object of visual stunningness as easily as breathing. Alas, I belong to a tribe of words and concepts. That is breathing to me. True, I cannot make my words appear pretty on my own but I can inspire worthy ideas. Communication is where I find myself living in a flow of freedom and where my natural joy spills out and onto [web]paper.
The sad yet brilliant truth is that for years of my adult life I have robbed myself of the freedom and bliss of being who I truly am at my core. Or, rather, allowing her to be seen. I have pulled away from tasting the sweet deliciousness of a life fulfilled and I have allowed the opinions of others to dictate my actions and influence beliefs about myself.
Don’t be so direct.
You don’t tell enough stories.
Careful... you may ruffle feathers.
Tone it down.
Leave that part out.
All of that dysfunctional headchatter has been born out of a deeply rooted fear of not being accepted, and while some of those things have actually been said to me, and I have not been accepted by others before, I am the only one who has the responsibility to push past that. I have been feasting on a buffet of fear, with a main course of envy, a side dish of shame, and dessert smacking of little to no self-confidence. That particular diet and my ability to bend myself into a human, codependent pretzel doesn’t work for me anymore. I don’t have room for that.
So here I am, writing, which I am already cautious about, and with an unpimped blog, which I am certain I will be judged for. Audaciousness. This is me stepping out and doing what I know to do. What I need to do.
I want to write the way I imagine an artist creates.
I want to step back from a finished piece and sit in the awe of my own self-making, drinking in the beauty of something that came from within me with all of its raw, vulnerable originality.
I want to bask in the glory of “yes, I did that,” and celebrate my humanity and perfect imperfection.
The most important person to please with my work is myself. Anything outside of that is simply the icing on a made-from-scratch treat known as my handiwork. (And someday the presentation of my words will look more... pimped.)