Frequently there are days that I write out a post – or most of a post – and then decide to stop writing and call it a day. I’ve now got quite the collection of draft posts that will sit and collect dust. I’ve had quite a few days as such, even recently, in which I write and stop. Most days that I don’t post – it’s not that I’ve not written, I’ve just chosen not to share.
I find that those days I am teetering somewhere between feeling okay and mostly alright.
I’ve always written for therapy, whether it be journaling or writing some abstract cryptic poetry. Often I find that there is just so much in my head that I have the need to get it out. I guess this can explain why I don’t always have the best written posts – my syntax is often quite “off” and it’s just as difficult, at times, to even get my thoughts out in a clear and succinct manner.
Either way, I write.
I don’t write to be a writer, I write to be a feeler – an expresser. I write in attempt to sort out what’s going on “up there”. I can see this as being a challenge in creating any sort of following. Do I want a following? Sure. I’ve always wanted others to know what I was feeling, what I was thinking. I think that in some way it’s similar to my photography: in that moment, I know the person looking at my photograph is experiencing, or at the least, seeing, what I saw in that exact moment. And with art – again, it’s the same. The viewer is able to see a small glimpse of what I envisioned and saw inside me.
What is this need I have for others to understand anything about me, or what I am thinking or what I am feeling? Why do I feel the need to express anything to others? Why do I feel the need for anyone to know what it’s like inside me?
This is where I find difficulty.
When I want to write, need to write – I write. Then I often realize it’s really just not something I want to share, or should share, or really care about sharing. But the inconsistency leads to diminished followers and then I am starting over from square one with each post with few readers. Perhaps that doesn’t matter so much.
I’ve sat in contemplation most of the morning in regards to what to do with this online journal. What is its purpose? What is my goal? In that, I realize it has no purpose and I have no given goal. It just is. It started as a way for me to share some of the more positive aspects of a spiritual journey I’ve found myself on. I decided to also share the archives of the blog I wrote as I was going through my lymphoma diagnosis and treatment. And now I realize that I share some of the not so great things, as well.
But who really cares about any of this – aside from me?
Each post seems to be some mini-documentary in written form of the day in the life of Brandi – a “Dear Diary” of sorts. But where is the substance? Where are the epiphanies? Where are the words that will pull in the masses? There is no substance, there are no epiphanies and the masses are off reading material that matters.
I give in to quiet resignation of the fact that, for now, this is all there is. Perhaps one day I will find focus and a goal – perhaps I will never have either. This is me and that’s all there is. And for now, that will have to be okay.