Writing is a conundrum. While it solves one problem, it creates another. It’s something I crave, a need I have to fulfill. So I put my words out there into a post and feel better. Deep breath because I never know how it will be received. Some are hits when I expected very little from them and some are what I consider to be better writing and yet they aren’t as well received. Toss of the coin. Until I post it, I don’t know which it will be.
Clicks or comments on my blog are a lot like lighters in the air at a concert. I see them and they give me affirmation that I’m doing it right. I communicated my thoughts effectively to you and you not only get them, you like them. And once you liked them, I realized how much I need you to do it again. I want you to like how they flow, how they feel, how they sound in your mind as you digest them. Knowing my readers are engaged has become a high. Like a runner’s high minus all the sweat or chafing. Afterwards, I want it again but it’s not that easy. I must earn it. I must perform my duty to gain it again.
Some posts write themselves, true. Those times, I’m really just the vessel they channel out of onto the screen. My fingers trying to keep up with the words as they pour out of me. But others, phew… some others are Mount Everest. An uphill climb in which I battle the winds of doubt and the piercing, cold blasts that attack my self-confidence.
What if I can’t pull it off again?
My job now requires me to write and I want to do it well. It’s another place for reward yet another opportunity for failure. As the stakes are raised, the pay off increases and so does the pressure to perform. Every new reader, every new height on my stats, they give me butterflies in my stomach and make my pulse quicken.
I want you to like my words. I need you to like them. To read and enjoy them. I sit down to write another and I feel the pressure. My chest tightens with fear that I might not accomplish that task. I have to though. I struggle with what to write, what to talk about.
Just be yourself, I think. Be an individual. But what if you don’t like my thoughts? What if you think they’re weird?
It’s a risk I have to take. It’s the only way I know how to be. To put myself out there and hope it’s accepted. The good, the bad, the random. It’s who I am.
I’d like to think that I’m immune to the stuff. Oh yeah. It’s closer to the truth to say I can’t get enough. I’m gonna have to face it… I’m addicted to love.