I really wish I could write gooder

I really wish I could write gooder
28 June 2013

I wonder sometimes if my writing is okay?  And if there was a writing scale, in which category would I fall?

Would people tick box a) Goodish but a bit boring

Or would they tick box b) It is okay, but it could be gooder

Then there’s box c) It aren’t the worst, but nor is it the betterest out there

Maybe box d) It’s not my bag and the writing is not very good

Perhaps box e) I kinda like it

Or finally box f) I dig it a lot

A whole bunch of “f’s” would be awesome.  Still that’s not why I’m doing this whole blogging thing.  Hey don’t get me wrong, affirmation that I’m on the right track is awesome.  Comments of encouragement and appreciation make my day.  They really do.  Every single “like” lifts my spirits.  Forwarding and sharing a post, even more incredible.  Perhaps the greatest gift, is the fact that when people like or comment, it means that I’ve been heard.  The interaction I get is super rewarding.

Does that make me needy?  Or does that make me honest?

It's not that I think I'm good - it's that I really just wish that I was.

My blog is my therapy.  And I must be super-messed up, because I’m in therapy every single day.  Some therapist out there, is missing out big time.  I could be putting his or her kid through varsity one day.  Or perhaps paying for that vacation overseas.  And let’s not forget paving the driveway.

My blog is my rock painting in a cave.  It’s living proof that I’ve roamed this fair earth.  Because the evidence will remain in my posts.  In the stories I wrote.

My blog is my “I was here”.

My blog is my “I cared”.

My blog is my “I tried hard to make a difference”.

My blog is my “somebody heard my voice”.

To me my blog is also my “look how far I’ve come and how I’ve grown”.

My blog is a record of my children’s childhood.  It preserves little snippets in time, frozen in words.  Small vignettes of daily life.  Of how they’re growing up and me with them too.  The words they say, the things they do.  Because time has a nasty habit of making things fuzzy.  Of blurring the lines and erasing some memories.  And my stories are capturing perfect accounts of everyday life.  Not the highs.  Not the lows.  Just average days.  Because though photographs and videos are great, they still don’t manage to perfectly encapsulate the feelings and the essence.  And perhaps a written account is better equipped to do all of that.  To paint a picture with words.  One that is vivid enough to evoke memories in years to come.  Making one able to see, smell, taste and touch.  And transport you right back to that day.

I am not just a blogger.  I am a writer.  But my blog is the only platform that is willing to publish me. 

But, hopefully not forever.  And if this is as good as it gets, and I remain a blogger forever, then I am super blessed.  It has been rewarding beyond measure.  Fulfilling and creative.  It has stretched my boundaries and made me think.  It has taught me stronger discipline in seeing something through, having made a commitment to myself.  It has broadened my horizons.  Made me more aware of others out there.  People that are far less fortunate than me.  It has grown an already well-established sense of humour even more.  As well as my perception skills.  Making me see opportunities in everything around me.  Picking up on nuances I might previously have not been aware of.  It has made me value that I have to be true to me and be honest in all.  It is a release valve of all I had possibly merely been storing deep inside of me before.  Giving outing to my thoughts and my feelings.  Providing me with a place to truly be me. 

Most important of all, it has given me joy!  And a more developed appreciation of how exceptionally blessed I am to be surrounded by so many awesome and amazing people.  The wealth and depth I have of family.  My incredible friends.  My most magnificent children.  And my wonderful Grantie.

Thank you!

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