When I tell Fred that I’m ‘dumb’, I don’t mean intellectually. I mean in the practical sense that my emotional landscape keeps me from the longevity required for the most basic of human functioning.
I have very, very low stress tolerance. I am riddled with pendulum swings between horror-flick panic and end-of-the-road depression. I have a tiny stop in manic-land from time to time (this is when I actually get my house clean), but for most of the time, I’m running from hating myself or being terrified of others. This is my daily inner life.
Yet, I still find ways and energy and time to homeschool my child, build websites, write songs and blogs. What for some may seem like idle work, takes mountains of effort for some.
But I’m starting to wonder if the writing is all for nothing, if it’s all worthless. I can barely convince friends and family to read it. Is it just the content?
I’m not really sure who my audience is supposed to be because I write to a generic reader. Anyone who might stumble upon it, I want them to be entertained, intrigued. I want them to learn something new. I want them to find help in some way. I want them to feel less alone and more grateful.
That’s you. Any of you. I want you to feel connection. I wrote this and you read it. One human mind reached out and another answered with attention.
I do not understand why social media makes it so hard to be found by your audience. I am literally paying money for people to scroll past my most intimate thoughts and feelings as if they were a fly that had landed on their screens. Why am I still doing this after a year and a half?
Because some people do like it. And a few, from time to time, speak up, reach out, and I know that I helped them or changed their day in some way. That’s the good stuff.
If the money ever comes that will help tremendously, but the art isn’t about meeting my survival needs. It’s not a job. I’ve done it since I was a small child.
I must create. I must transmute my feelings and wear them outside of my body and put them on display. My art is an extension of myself that I cannot hide from others. I have to share it. I have to live it.