I gravitate towards people who are an open book. I am naturally trusting and it’s burned me in the past. Now, I am more wary of people’s intentions. Insincerity saddens me. I find those who spend their days in perpetual bliss, a little hard to connect with. Conversely, those who see no joy, fail to recognise how lucky they truly are and always harp on about how life is so easy for others, tiring. Even in my darkest moments, I can recognise how lucky I am. Life is unbearable for many.
I’m not saying that I never whinge. I whinge. I’m not saying that I never put on a fake smile and sprout positivity at times I feel less than enthusiastic, but I’m definitely someone who tells it as it is. I am not a good actor. I feel an endless need to rock the boat, rather than sit unmoving. I wish more people spoke up, more of the time. What’s behind your mask? It would make for a more transparent society. Then, there are those who spend so much time shouting at everyone to be heard, they forget to listen. It’s all about balance. I sway to each extreme. If I push too far either way – mute or raving – I topple in. Those little sea sick feelings in my belly flutter.
Finding the equilibrium is tricky. Working out ways to say what you mean without railroading others is something I am still learning. I get so passionate it’s sometimes hard to be eloquent and loud in an understated, clever way. Recently, I posted about a column Mia Freedman wrote. I stand by what I said, yet I would probably temper it. She isn’t like John Laws – I’ve taken references to such, out. Mia, I am sorry for calling you John Laws. That was harsh. Hindsight is an enlightening thing.
After hitting publish my day was sent into a flurry. People feel very strongly about her website – some hate it with a passion, some adore everything about it. Many are unwilling to share their thoughts publicly, yet very keen to tell you privately. That’s cool. Personally, I take Mamamia on a post by post basis. Some posts I adore. Some make me cringe. Even some of my own published on it, make me shudder. See, hindsight again. Anyway, I learned a lot during that experience. Perhaps I should write, edit, wait awhile, reread, edit again and then publish. Yet, when I do that I get scared. I over think everything. I would never have shown my flabby belly for the world to see, if I’d done that. Next time, I write about someone else though, I’ll think twice.
Last night I had a dream I ran across Mia in the magazine offices we both worked. I apologised. I explained what I’d meant and how I’d not expressed myself adequately. How I’d let my passion and anger guide my writing too much. That I felt she had a responsibility as a publisher to anticipate the reactions of her audience. How her comments fuelled the bigotry of some of her readers. How I thought that irresponsible. How I too had a responsibility as a publisher to be more careful with my words. We then went out shopping for sugared almonds for bonbonieres (this fasting diet is fucking with me).
I spend a lot of time trying to be transparent about my thoughts. This blog is a place I vent and yell and cry and open my soul up for dissection. Sometimes when I’ve been too forthright it scares me and then I put my mask back on.
I’m muddling through. I have some lessons to learn. We all do.