The Greater Risk

I often sit down to start writing, and eventually close the window because I don't know what to say. Don't know where to start. Don't know if the letters, words, sentences I type will be cohesive enough. Will be interesting enough. Will adequately take thoughts out of my mind and put them into something tangible. So I walk away, and I tell myself I will try again another day. The alternative is that I do get something out and ultimately choose not to press the publish button. Most of the time, it is because there is no real ending to whatever I have written. I leave many posts unfinished and unpublished because they are unpolished. Most of my posts turn into streams of consciousness, which are great for my mental state. They are not great for anybody who may choose to read them, but I don't suppose that is really the point. My writing has never been for anyone other than me. As I was typing the letters that formed the words that formed the sentence about my posts being unfinished, I was reminded of a quote that is from a spoken word poem called A Lot Like You by Rudy Francisco (you can find the video of him performing it here).

Aren't we all unfinished, don't we all need editing  

Aren't we all waiting to be read to be someone

Praying they will tell us that we make sense?

Maybe part of the beauty of writing is that it is always unfinished. Always open for editing. Waiting for someone to read it and find something meaningful. Or, in my case, waiting to be reread by an older version of myself looking to make sense of the past and the way it is inextricably intertwined with the present.

If I am honest, I would love to share the things I write with the people in my life. For years, I have been better at expressing myself through writing than through speaking. Part of it is my introversion, part of it is the high functioning anxiety that permeates my life, but mostly, it's just easier; less risky. On the vulnerability scale where 0 is never interacting with anyone at all and 10 is an invitation into all aspects of my life, speaking to someone about something difficult or that I struggle with is about an 8.5 while writing about the exact same thing is only about a 7. Writing is my mechanism for being vulnerable without totally exposing myself. I don't know what that says about me. It's clearly a manifestation of fear. Fear of disapproval, of rejection, of raised eyebrows and eye rolls. And even though writing feels safer, I choose not to share it because it's not safe enough. I choose to live most of my life at about a 3, so sharing anything I have written, no matter how personal or impersonal it is, feels risky. Sometimes not risking anything is, in the end, the greater risk.