Word vomit

Earlier in the month, I had a birthday. A few days before that happened, I walked around a corner, caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and had what simultaneously felt like a flashback and a glimpse forward. It freaked me out, and then, just as quickly as it came, was gone. Surely it isn't possible for me to be old enough to have a job that requires a Master's degree. At the same time, surely I'm too old to have accomplished what often feels like so little. Of course, it is all relative. Part of it is that I compare what I have done to the picture I have in my mind of what I think I should have done by now or the idealization of what I thought would have occurred by this point in my life.

If, as Teddy Roosevelt said, comparison is the thief of joy, am I sucking joy out of my life by comparing it to my own comparisons of what I thought would be? What things in my life am I failing to enjoy because I want something different. Even when the things that are are perfectly fine. Good, even.

What am I trying to say? I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine. Sometimes I just miss writing. This actually makes me wonder what would happen if I did stream of consciousness posts. Actually, no. That would be a really bad idea. I would end up inadvertently sharing something that isn't meant to be shared. It does bring back memories of a high school English teacher. She would make us do journals 3-4 times a week where we literally just wrote for 10 minutes about anything we wanted to. She wanted to get us into the habit of writing, even if it wasn't grammatically correct or there was not a flow to what was written. There is just something cathartic about getting things out there.

I like the speed and efficiency of typing, but I also enjoy the way it feels to write and see the letters I have created. I could spend days upon days doodling, especially if I had a Sharpie pen (ohmygoodness, those are the best!).

I'm realizing that I often post the same things on here. I write it in different ways and occasionally go to other things, but ultimately end back up at the same place. It makes me wonder if I am failing to be adventurous enough. And then I remember that there is no requirement on how adventurous I am in my life. I set the rules on how I live my own life. I don't have to be adventurous if I don't want to be, though that raises the question of if I want to be more adventurous than I am. And to that I would say, "I don't know, maybe."

Part of this is coming in light of self reflection based on some events at work. I need to acknowledge that I don't always have all the answers and that I need to take time to be proactive and do things to enhance my knowledge base as a preventative measure rather than trying to educate myself when a difficult or unusual situation arises.

Okay. I need to stop writing. This basically ended up being a stream of consciousness anyhow. Oh gosh. Sometimes the things I write just feel like a lot of word vomit.

The point at which I stop pretending honesty and vulnerability are the same

I have posted here before about vulnerability. Several times, in fact. In many ways, that was my whole reason for starting this blog. Except I have yet to share this blog with anyone whose reading of what I have written would actually put me in a vulnerable position.

With the exception of two people who know me quite well, nobody I know knows how to find this blog. Even those two probably couldn't if they wanted to because it has been so long since I gave them the link. Vulnerability is easy, and isn't really vulnerability, when nobody who has the opportunity to hurt me reads it. Not that I set out trying to be hurt. That would be ridiculous. But being vulnerable opens me up to the possibility of being hurt. I'm not really too concerned about a random person on the internet hurting me as a result of reading anything I have written on this blog.

Vulnerability isn't vulnerability if I'm not being vulnerable with anybody. The "vulnerability" I have previously attempted in various posts on this blog isn't actually vulnerability. Honesty, perhaps. Openness, maybe. But not vulnerability. Not in the truest sense of the word.

The first three Merriam Webster definitions of vulnerability are, "Capable of being physically or emotionally wounded," "Open to attack or damage," and "Liable to increased penalties but entitled to increased bonuses after winning a game in contract bridge."

I don't know what contract bridge is, nor do I really care, but I love the idea that is provided in that third definition. "Liable to increased penalties but entitled to increased bonuses."

How beautiful is that? It's a trade off. A cost vs. benefit. Risk vs. reward. It's not vulnerability until there is an actual risk or cost and the potential for a real reward or benefit.

Over the weekend, I somehow got thinking about vulnerability, and I started thinking about the people in my life who I am vulnerable with. All of them, every single one, are people who are vulnerable with me. People with whom there is some level of reciprocity. In the context of this blog, I think my fear is not knowing while still being known. Being, in the real sense of the word, vulnerable with people who may or may not be vulnerable with me. But what if my ability to be really and truly vulnerable helps someone else do the same? Conversely, I could play the "what if?" game for days. I can't live my life in a "what if?" state. Well, I can, but I'm making a choice not to. So at some point after I post this, I'm going to share this in a way that is actually vulnerable.