on getting back into it, Imposter Days, strangers and the simply strange

I miss writing here. I keep meaning to- I write such long entries in my head, on scraps of paper, in my notebooks, but they never seem to make it over here lately. There are a few Reasons lately; I’ve been hibernating, mostly, fomenting, in retreat.

After Rhinebeck I began to expand; things started making a lot more sense, coming together. That was good, but I still haven’t had much I wanted to share. And I still have some weirdness about certain folks who are following this blog, which- well, that’s the nature of the beast, of course: it’s all out for public consumption and I’ve been a public person for some years now, but it’s more really about the nature in which they follow, which can only be classified as strange and a little obsessive. Writing about it won’t exactly help, but seeing as some of these people haven’t been in touch with me for decades, others a least a year or so, I’m not sure how it can harm, either. I have an estranged relative who is hitting this site about daily, sometimes multiple times a day— regardless of a dearth of updates. That’s actually the eeriest part: the unflagging persistence despite my lack of posts. On some level I’d been holding out, hoping they’d give up and let it go, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen any time soon.

I’m tempted to squirrel my life away out of pique, out of anger: this is mine, this is ours, you have no right to it, you kicked us out, so keep out, fuck off, go away. You never wanted me, or us, in the first place; why are we so fascinating now, when we’ve stopped knocking on your doors?  I was tempted to pull stakes and start somewhere new, just let this site archive, or even drop writing online altogether.

Here’s the rub, though: I believe in communication. I believe in the power and importance of the shared experience. I remember how many lines of communication opened up when I shared my time in Afghanistan, and damn, talking about MS, pain and chronic illness has been strange at times but there is a clear need for that kind of writing; I’ve met so many disability advocates, talked to newly diagnosed patients, and been given the opportunity to share information and experiences with other folks living similar lives, and their caretakers. Writing about MMJ has helped raise awareness; sharing my love of textile arts helped grow my community there. It seems small- and it is- but it still matters.

This has been my spot online for a long time, and I miss being here. I’m not sure I really care whether or not more strangers know the things I’m thinking or knitting or spinning or photographing or yelling about in the streets, really. It was bothering me for a minute until I realized no, wait: These people don’t know me any better than any other reader who happens across me on the internet- they’ve just met me face- to- face, and not for years in some cases. What’s the difference between them and some rando in Abu Dhabi landing on my page? Hell, compared to a lot of the folks who read/ comment, they’re behind the curve. Forget it: let’s just let it ride.

I can’t promise that I’ll be here a ton more. I want to make that commitment- I want to make high- minded plans that involve scheduled posts, lists, photos, all of that, but the truth is that I am busy beyond all belief these days, reshaping my life. I have intentions, though, and they are earnest and good, and they include a desire to be here more. I don’t know how much that counts for, but I’m trying to keep it straightforward & true.

I’m teaching again and I’ll be posting some about that in the near future (see? An almost guaranteed post!), I’d forgotten how much I enjoy the act of teaching itself, regardless of the material. I mean: I knew I enjoyed teaching, but I forgot the depth of pleasure it gives. I’ve also begun recording some guided meditations- metta, yoga nidra, general relaxation exercises- and that’s a bit surreal, too. Recording & editing audiobooks was one thing; sure, okay, that’s my voice, I’m over it. Hearing myself as a meditation teacher, though, I don’t know. I’d been doing that for years but never had the chance to hear how I sounded, and now I’m terribly self- conscious, which I need to get over right away. (Or I need to stop doing my own editing. This is probably a wiser option, but I’d then need to work up the nerve to hand over my un- edited audio to someone else and HAHAHAHAHAHA, like that’s ever going to happen, so I’m just going to learn to get over myself instead.)

It’s good for me, actually- feeling that awkward, editing my own work in that way. I’m so used to editing my own writing painlessly, going over paragraphs and tossing out clunky sentences, even entire pages that I hate and barely wincing. Oooof, that is terrible, I can think, and it hardly stings. I can do that again. It’s not the end of the world. There are so many words! Sort of like this entry— not one of my best, it’s rambly and long and all over the place, just a catch- everybody- up kind of thing, I’m not at all worried about it. I can write so many things, everything I write doesn’t have to be The Most Amazing Thing Ever Set To Paper. When it’s my voice, though- audio work? If it isn’t perfection JUST. LET. ME. DIE. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

I don’t get it. Hey, I’m doing something sort of- kind of new, so hey, if I’m not 100% awesome at it, I SUCK I SUCK I SUCK I SHOULDN’T BE DOING THIS WHY AM I DOING THIS. Do we ever stop being in high school? Amanda Palmer knows what I’m talking about. (Hat tip: so does Cacie. I’ve been having some serious Imposter Days, but I’m working it out.) It’s good to be this uncomfortable, though. Sam makes fun of me because I enjoy feeling uncomfortable every so often; it keeps me flexible and on my toes. There’s something to be said for feeling really out of place and uncertain— it makes me look for new solutions, better ideas, different approaches. I make other things on those days, or I push myself to power through the work, or both.

So— I hope to write here more. And I hope to be a bit more present online in general, when I’m not working a part- time job, freelancing (there’s the photo gig, the audiobooks, the meditation recordings, the meditation teaching, pretty soon yoga teaching, occasional knitting/ spinning/ dyeing teaching, designing knitwear, and some odd making- of- things, too), and generally trying to have a life, as well. It’s hectic, but not as bad as it looks when it’s written out— strangely, it’s still more restful than my life was 8 months ago, and that’s really saying something. It’s interesting to be on the hustle again- I’d forgotten this feeling. It’s good, you know? Really, solidly good. I know it’s transitional- I’m working toward some pretty solid goals, there’s a well defined 18- month- plan here— but ooof, I’d missed the rush of this kind of living. Maybe I’ll be back in a few days to talk a little about that.

Be well, all. I’ve missed you. Let’s talk soon.

 

 

  One thought on “on getting back into it, Imposter Days, strangers and the simply strange

  1. Val
    February 9, 2015 at 8:51 pm

    It’s good to hear from you, I wish that I had found your blog sooner.

  2. February 10, 2015 at 8:52 am

    Good to hear from you. It feels as if you’re getting into a stride that will reveal a lot in the weeks, months and years ahead. I’ll be reading again when you check in….Thanks for doing so this week!.

  3. February 17, 2015 at 7:34 pm

    Hello,
    I happened upon your blog, because I also blog in here, not on this Word Press but on http://mslife.org.

    What amazes me, after reading through some of your articles, is the similarity between us. I too taught knitting and am into fiber arts.

    I traveled around the country for many years as a freelance musician but my heart lies in composing.

    One of my knitwear designs was featured on the runway show in, um for the life of me I can’t recall it, you know…the let’s get together here on the east coast, or west coast and so forth.

    I too lived in Maryland. In Glen Burnie actually, just outside of Baltimore.

    I too have MS.

    Here is the thing. You’re a good writer and communicator. You have something to say about a disease that many want to hear about. Don’t cut yourself off from the people who need you. It’s cathartic to write, so write.

    My MS site is about positivity. I write about sure, shit happens but let’s turn this around.
    I don’t equate myself with this debilitating disease. I am a person first who has a disease and I too have something to say about it. I write.

    I’ve taken sabbaticals off just like you. It’s always in the back of mind though.

    I write to help other, I write to help myself. I write, because it get’s rid of all the garbage that I”m thinking about.

    You do a great job. Don’t hide your talent. Give your readers the pain, the confusion, the happiness and blah blah blah.

    Keep doing what you’re doing. It will help others and it will help you.

    Magdalena

  4. Lisa Wohlrab
    February 21, 2015 at 12:11 am

    While we haven’t seen each other for years, I love you and know that the moment I am back in your neck of the woods, I will see you. Your writing inspires me and I miss you so much!

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