Clearing Out Some Poopy Stuff
So. Over the past couple of years I've been writing a blog. You just haven’t read it. Not because you didn’t want to, because you might have have liked that. I gotta admit though, that some of the subject matter was a little dark. For me to say that, you know it was.
The reason you never read this super-secret decoder ring access blog was because I stopped publishing my thoughts. Good thing? Bad thing? I dunno. I’m not sure it’s one way or the other. It’s just how it went down.
Occasionally, sometimes, I would poke my head up, toss something into the Blogiverse and share a dopey musing, mostly drivel about how this sucked and that sucked more, all the while talking myself into all the reasons why it wasn’t supposed to suck that much. I was lost about this or that and why does this life suck shit so bad and poop this and poop that and my back hurts.
Wow...what a FANTASTIC read those blogs were getting to be. Though I did sort of like the poop stuff. It's the little boy in me. Poop and farts are still funny. I may be fifty but that stuff still makes me laugh. Unless I'm cleaning it up. Then it's not so funny.
But I went back and read a lot of my published blogs over the last couple of years. I wasn’t a good blogger. Not just because of the lack of frequency. I wasn’t a nurturing, selfless blogger, offering up a Slice of Life that felt inspiring. Not that all blogs have to be that. But they should at least be interesting. And many weren't even that. They were...hollow somehow, like one of those really weird malted milk balls that you get from time to time. You toss it in your mouth joyfully, bite down and suddenly DAFUQ??? Something is WAY wrong with it. The inside is just...FREAKING WEIRD. Gone but not gone.
There, but...not there.
That was me. My sense of humor was getting swallowed up by spending too much time feeling sorry for myself. And the good, strong triples I would sometimes leg out, even the occasional dinger, were not showing up often enough to sustain me. I certainly don't expect that they would sustain anyone else.
I lost my way, hard.
Frankly the blog, but more importantly my Life on the Internet, was becoming a one way street. Offering my friends, and you, scraps, while everyone continued to be there as a lifeline.
The journey to reach that realization, and then to embrace it, required time, introspection, a LOT of therapy and writing with no fear of repercussion.
But there I was. Ending one journey, starting another. And now, another.
So why now? Why decide to stop writing blogs to myself and instead start publishing? Because blogging, for me, flushes a lot of the fudgy stuff out my head. There's that poopy stuff again.
Opening a hole in my skull and letting what’s inside of me to bleed out onto the page has been second only to therapy on the list of the most important things I’ve ever done for strengthening my mental health. Through it I can continue to carve away at the marble and reveal the person I am meant to be. Not the person anyone else thinks I should be. When I write something that is clear, concise, funny, insightful...I feel complete, spiritual. I feel cleared out...refreshed even.
As Anthony Bourdain, my new hero, once joked about getting his Aura renewed in a ritual before visiting some cocoa plants he owned near Peru. “My Aura is now cleaner than Gwyneth Paltrow’s colon after a 3-month juice cleanse.”
Yeah...what he said.