So many people are blogging these days. Sometimes it makes me marginally sad that I’ll probably never find the content of people I would most likely like if only I could sift through some of the content that I didn’t particularly like. That sentence made sense, right?
Anyways, my point is that I’m glad for the internet. People are interesting, and I like reading about them. It makes me happy that so many are putting themselves out there for the world to see. In fact, I would go so far as to say that those of you who are writing your thoughts, feelings, and sharing your stories, writings, etc, are BRAVE people. There’s so much ambiguity when you put your intimate personal self out there. It’s easy to take the safe road and keep everything private, thus ensuring enclosure from potential criticism… but that’s boring. What’s the pointing of sitting on creativity, or thoughts, or opinions? If one is inclined to share them, one might as well share them, and do so with pride.
I guess this post is stemming from a minor altercation I had yesterday with my partner after showing him a poem I had written recently. I took days and days visiting and revisiting this little poem, thinking it through in my brain, weaving the threads together to try and make it as polished as possible. I never settled while I was writing it. There were a few days where sentences just weren’t coming, so I would leave it alone for a couple days and come back to it. I wrote and rewrote, read and reread it until I was satisfied.
The point is I put a lot of effort into it, and was looking forward to sharing it with my confidante.
Unfortunately, I didn’t quite get the reaction that I was anticipating. To be honest I don’t know what sort of reaction I was anticipating, but obviously I was hoping NOT to get the one I got. It went like this:
Me: Honey, will you read my poem now?
I present him with the poem, which he takes, reads about three sentences of, and then….
Him: Ehh.. I don’t like it.
He keeps reading on. But my annoyance level has unreasonably skyrocketed out of earth’s atmosphere, so instead of allowing him to continue, I snatch the poem out of his palms and storm off in childish outrage.
Following this was a very quiet, uncomfortable, and tense ride home. So what was so wrong with his opinion that ignited such defensive behaviour in me? Obviously he doesn’t have to like it just because I wrote it. He’s entitled to whatever opinion he wants to have. I realised that the dejection I was feeling was unnecessary. If I am going to write, I’m just going to have to accept that not everything will be received well by everyone. I need a thicker skin.
So with that in mind, I will say this, more to myself than anyone else:
I shall continue to write however and whatever I write, and I will post it here with confidence and pride. Because I love writing. And damn any negative self talk that wants to stand in my way.
PS, just in case you’re wondering.. yes, I did allow him to read the poem in its entirety later.. not that that changed his opinion, mind you. 😉