Of course I have to talk about the journey I have taken from this blog.
Because everyday I stare at a blank screen which frightens the death out of me. Isn’t it strange to think that that empty screen can be filled with words in an infinite amount of combinations, giving meaning to those who chose to read in an infinite amount of ways? Sometimes even I as the author can write something beyond my own comprehension, but I am sure that if someone out there reads it, there may be a reason as to why it has ended up the way it has. It’s like how did I end up here? Only you know.
I always wait for the start. That is to say a spark that can overcome any fear, including that of writer’s block. That spark which expands forever outwards, from it’s origin in the present, with it’s accumulation of memories proliferating in a random fashion. There is meaning in that.
To compose these posts takes countless re-wordings of re-read pieces. To make some sense of the prompt. To start from a point and file one’s way through a narrative, like an expansion into a universe, gathering together disparate elements to create a unity, something exact.
The start is just part of the process. We have to have the endurance to see through what we have started, the resilience to carry on through doubt, and the compassion to be able to reach out to others. It is a satisfying process, to affirm ourselves through countless re-readings of the same material, in this structure.
Once written, I feel that the only way to judge the outcome is to see whether I want to read it for myself. I suppose that is part of human nature: to do something that we like. It takes guts. Because after all it is oh so easy to be destructive. To erase from memory what is painful. We live with that possibility to enhance the constructive nature of our skills, to overcome that which may cause harm, to have an end result.
That way when I read feedback from my fellow bloggers, I can respond in a complementary manner. And I don’t have to worry if I don’t get a response because I am pleased with what I have done, and I can escape the perpetual self- questioning: ‘Am I good enough? Am I not?’, ‘Does this make sense, or not?’ that can leave one’s nerves frayed.
All this makes me the author of my own fate, to shape something for myself, to be a master of blogging. Also part of the fun is reading other people’s awesome posts, sometimes biographical muses, philosophical eccentrics, or poetic existentialists, many become an inspiration because of the depth of experience, becoming like a rock, someone to follow through with the deed of responding to today’s question.
So I give myself a pat on the back for making this physical and emotional journey.
Tell us about a journey — whether a physical trip you took, or an emotional one.