Wide Open

by E. Marmer
posted Nov 17, 2017

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Recently, someone I know suggested that my last blog entry, “Message in a Bottle” was “oversharing.” He went on further to ask whether I wrote it to be stroked and praised as a person of great understanding. He stated his concern that it might indicate a form of vanity. This very same person had often expressed to me his wish that I could open up more readily to people other than the handful in my very closest circle and be utterly myself (outspoken, natural and unguarded).

I dismissed all validity to his remarks about vanity – I know the personal essay is an established art form, and that for centuries our civilization has been reading the personal thoughts, yearnings and epiphanies of writers – but they stung nevertheless. They stung because 1) I respect his opinion and care about his approval; and 2) I’m by nature inclined to question myself constantly (which is why I haven’t historically been fully at ease or fully myself, although I’ve been making great strides of late). Did I engage in vanity? I had to ask myself. And, because I’m still working to convince myself that my personality actually is a pretty good one, and that most of my actions and instincts are guided by purer motives, surely not one of the seven deadly sins, I had to think long and hard about it.

Starting with my very first blog post, every single time I hit “Publish” I have worried, “Is this too far? Is this too personal? Is this too exposed and does this reveal what a weirdo or overly sensitive person I am?” And after a minute or two, I calm my worry by remembering that this was why I began writing my blog in the first place. The real, real reason, beneath wanting to write, and wanting to find out if I could write well, I now understand was that I was giving myself my own sort of therapy for becoming emotionally brave and comfortable in my own skin. A total emersion therapy, like jumping into and swimming across the cold, old quarry lake.

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One day, and I will never stop being grateful for that day, I found myself writing an essay, addressed to no one in particular, and, if that weren’t surprising enough, actually creating a blog to publish it. Who was this person going boldly where she had never gone before? I suspected I had things to say that would connect with people, and I gave a swift kick in the ass to that inner editor, who has lived in my head for most of my life, always telling me I best keep my mouth shut, that I was awkward, an irritant, someone who had to learn to blend and had nothing worthy to contribute. I will never forget the rush of fear, and the exhilaration when I overcame it and let my first work fly out. I will never forget it, for I experience it anew each and every time. Is this worthy? I ask, filled simultaneously with dread that it isn’t and astonishment that I sent it out anyway.

After doing this strange exercise several times I learned a few things, which you think would have enabled me to nix the dread, but no, I haven’t learned that particular lesson yet. I learned, though, that most people react well to my being so open. That they value my honesty, my proof that they are not alone in having similar feelings. They value the opportunity to think about something they hadn’t considered before, and a different perspective. And there developed a secondary reason for my blog, which has far overtaken the initial one. I write as an offering. I offer my experience, my growth and my mistakes for examination. I offer myself.

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And every great artist, thinker, creator has done the same to one extent or another. Believe me, I humbly know I haven’t a fraction of their talents, but by golly I have their bravery, if not their unquestioning nerve. I tell myself, “this is worthy,” and I put it out there, quivering in my nakedness, praying that it is. Do I congratulate myself for that? You’re damned right I do.