I'm having an identity crisis. I started this blog way back when to practice public writing. Being out there, getting out there with what I think, how I write. It was a personal challenge then, to be open and naked on the park bench.
Then I went freelance, started selling my name and my services, and all over again, I weigh my personal stories and observations against what I "should" or "shouldn't" say in public. The challenge is still there.
I hate that.
How much do people want to hear about my personal inner workings? Do I really want to write the details of my latest dates--which I love to process aloud, because the dating/mating ritual is to me like watching National Geographic special--with anyone who will log on to see? Not really. But some of it is really funny. Other stuff is heartbreaking as I learn my curve. Not all of it is appropriate for publication.
I hate that word. Appropriate.
What does that mean, anyway?
Another wedge to the crisis is that life has been deep lately. I'm learning to look sad when I feel sad. Learning to show anger when I feel it. Learning to be a dork when I feel awkward. Letting the shine wear down to get to what's real. Some of it is so deeply personal, I feel silly writing about it in a public forum. Even though I know it's something valuable we all have as an opportunity to learn sometimes. It's human.
The point is, I've been reticent. And unsure what to commit to the page.
Until I do, commit, that is, check out my professional site. My company is called Ink Street and you can find me there (.com).