The Process of Fields
Less than fifteen minutes now. I have a fear of writing in public places, as if someone might see or read over my shoulder and have a bunch of opinions. Isn’t that weird? Isn’t it weird that I’m afraid of other people’s opinions? I mean, really, what sense does that make?
I suppose you could argue that other people’s opinions basically create the world that my own individual reality interacts with, but that becomes a chicken-and-egg scenario pretty quickly. Who, exactly, is creating whom?
And yet, despite these fears of public discovery, I situate myself in just about the most conspicuous position possible with lots of side traffic. Am I a voyeur, an exhibitionist, or a masochist? It’s difficult to decide. Yet, clear that, if nothing else, I am the very source of my own problems.
I don’t have a point in writing this piece. The intention here is merely to get the proverbial pen flowing again. I began this website redesign with the intention of writing frequently. In my head, if I made it a fluid and easy task for me to publish pieces, and if the writing interface were simple (in this case a text editor and some markdown) I would be more inclined to share my thoughts with the world.
Well, you know what?
I’m apparently a coward, afraid of other people’s thoughts and afraid to expose my own.
And when you really consider that for a minute, it really is like living in fear of some invisible boogeyman. And there’s nothing to say that I won’t be the subject of equal amounts of scorn by NOT putting myself out there as I may be by doing so. So I think it’s safe to say that it’s time to write, with reckless abandon if need be. Perhaps it will require a glass or two of fine whiskey to loosen me up to a point of neutral comfort. Perhaps it will begin to flow of its own accord after not much more than a fleeting image or concept. Or perhaps it, like any disused muscle, will firm and fill with life after only a mild amount of coaxing and limbering.
I’ve always, always loved writing. But after high school, frankly, I stopped doing it. And I miss it, but also I find myself to be so much the observer that I have little to say these days. Despite how complex and convoluted my own life can be at times, I work my way through it mostly quietly. Revealing very little to very few. And I’m quite comfortable that way. But that is not the way to make a difference in the world. For that to happen, you must reach beyond yourself.
So whatever form it may take, let us (or at least, me) take this moment as the beginning of a journey. A journey that will willingly increase the degree to which I expose myself to any sort of public eye. And in so doing, perhaps there will be difficulties, perhaps there will be pleasures, perhaps nothing much will happen and no one will pay any attention and all the fear will have been for naught.
Or perhaps that itself is the fear. The fear that I will open myself up and put myself out there and every last human in existence will merely stare blankly, shrug, utter a sort of disinterested noise, and shuffle away, leaving me standing alone, and completely ineffectual, with my devalued thoughts.