The Ease of Some Things, The Difficulty of Others

I was invited last night to talk to the members of a local book club about Pursued: A Maggie McKenzie Mystery. Of course, I was delighted to go do that (even though I was totally exhausted from a long few days with my two youngest grandchildren.) There is something exhilarating - even rejuvenating about discussing something you love or something you've accomplished.

I promised my also exhausted husband that I would hurry home as quickly as possible so we could collapse in bed in a quiet house without having to listen for crying babies and get a good night's sleep. But, as it frequently happens, as soon as they began asking questions about the book, I completely forgot how tired I had been. It was a full two hours later that I returned home to my very weary husband (who had lovingly waited up for me.)

Contrast that pleasant experience with anticipating my turn to blog. I approach it with not just trepidation, but a blankness of mind. What subject might be of interest? What won't sound trite or foolish? How long will it take me because I have to rewrite it so many times to make it sound like I am actually literate?

Why isn't it as easy to write as it is to talk? I can talk forever on many subjects and actually make some sense. But shouldn't it be as easy to just write the things that I would say if I were having a conversation with a friend? I just sat and pondered this question for a few minutes, and decided that when we speak, it goes away rather quickly. In one ear and out the other, so to speak. But when we are writing, it is there - a record in black and white to be called up again and again or passed along to others - and who knows how many will see it?

And judge.

That is the root of the problem. The fear that we will be judged. I really don't want to be known as a blithering idiot. By my age, there is supposed to have been acquired a certain amount of wisdom and knowledge. Unfortunately, I'm not a witty person. I don't make people laugh with clever dialogue or witticisms. That leaves the opposite pole - being wise and knowledgeable. And lest at this point, I show my lack of either wisdom or knowledge, I will leave you to ponder these questions: Why do we fear what other people think? Why should it matter if we are secure in our knowledge of who we are? Why can't we just be ourselves and not worry over every word we write?