I believe writing by it's very nature is the art of illusion. The impressions in a public journal world is tricky and subjective. Not all that is written, is a persons round robin. Not in my case anyway.
I have all these other truths, thoughts, opinions, and ideas within myself, that never see the light of day. Or, my truths land hidden in the hand written journals I prolifically maintain, yet, those will never will see the light of day. When I die, I already know some unsuspecting family member will inherit the shock of the whole truth about me....I'll be dead, I'm prepared for that......
Between my reality world and this Internet world, I see and observe so many thing I'd like to write about, but typically resist. In my real world, I do things that probably shouldn't make it's way into a public content either but if I'm honest with myself. I must admit I'm aggitated and frustrated with my reclusive behavior.
It seems, either I start to claim all of myself now or I wait another 5 years and really regret my rotting silence with a fevered hatred.
Why this? Why now. I will give credit to a friend I consider as close to me as I've allowed in friendship. She said, with a dramtic pause meant to pierce my interior, "Rebecca, I consider you one of my closest friends, but at times I feel like I don't know you at all and it isn't because I haven't tried to understand."
That is the truth I need to shift, that impression, that illusion, the quiet recluse. I can't find any honor in my behavior.
2 comments:
You've got what we call in French,
"pudeur."
It means discretion, a sense of privacy. It means that you don't use the word friend lightly, but if you use it, you mean it.
Sometimes super smart people are also super sensitive, and need to step back a bit from the world, keep it at a slight remove. There's nothing dishonorable about it.
I see Marc's point. I also see mine and yours...
In words written.. I'm alive; in person, in any form of relationship I'm guarded. First meetings are to say I might appear rude, shy even self centered ignorant...
There's a space inside, the one I mentioned when I said maybe it's a good thing, love is blind. That center that's rough hewn, splintered, and a bloody pulp. I like it that way. It keeps me real, but it also keeps me imprisoned to some extent.
It's that question of how you see yourself, and then the fear of how people will perceive what you see (not what they see, what YOU see). It gets lonely in that space though, the space and distance you keep people from you. Of course I'm talking about myself here, I can see your words and I get it. I get it in the way I sometimes wish I didn't. Not in a bad way, in the holding up a mirror to me way.
Paul once said to me in anger, your the one responsible for the lack of friends you have in easy reach, which is none. I didn't talk to him for a week. He was right and he knew how to hit my center with that. Easy reach being able to live close by, within a phone call...(raises eyebrow) no I'm not a recluse...they are there. As you are....just not so easily accessable, in a moments notice way.
Could it be one of the reasons we found it so easy to approach one another, kindred souls yet separate and distant. You make me think, you make me wonder, and most of all you make me miss the things I shut out.
You are NOT a recluse you just have this uncanny ability to be in touch with all of you. Few people in this world know how to do that. Now it's for you (and me) to figure out how to balance that. After all there is an equal measure of sorrow with the joy.
I do believe I'm talked out now. Your words...are oh so powerful. (Hugs)Indigo
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