Okay, so this isn't gonna cut it.
Even I know one blog a month is lame. I mean, like... this is totally lame.
But I've been contemplating cutting out my blog life. And in the interim between self-deprecatory excuses, I have been emailing my friend, mentor, and confidante, "Writer Jim" my best I've-been-to-law-school-so-just-try-and-talk-me-out-of-it-I-dare-you arguments justifying my actions.
Or perhaps, more accurately, lack thereof in the writing department.
Why? Because suddenly, I doubted my ability to post on a consistent, (2-3 times a week) basis. And I don't mean just any old post, but a good post. With life lessons, an open heart, and of course, my life on a platter.
Sometimes that's the toughest part.
It's one thing to lecture about what I know (correction - what I think I know)and quite another to use the blog not only as a venue of personal expression (for that's what a blog is) but as Gestalt therapy.
Gestalt therapy: an existential--experiential form of psychotherapy that emphasizes personal responsibility, and that focuses upon the individual's experience in the present moment, the therapist-client relationship, the environmental and social contexts of a person's life, and the self-regulating adjustments people make as a result of their overall situation.
Y'all are my collective therapist.
You even fit the stereotype - that of a silent listener who takes notes from a fancy leather-studded armchair while I lay on some matching burgundy chaise lounge spilling my guts out and wondering how crazy you think I really am when I leave.
Oy vay.
And yet, I know that some of my experiences simply mirror those of others. So I'm not really operating in a vacuum. The difference is, I put words and analysis to mine. And somewhere along the way, somebody gets what I'm saying.
And that's why I do it. That's why I want to keep doing it.
As I bust myself constantly, there exists a possibility that someone, somewhere might identify their crap with mine. And maybe, just maybe, take note and save themselves a little unnecessary aggravation in the process.
Interestingly enough, it was busting myself that made me come back...
It's not that I couldn't find the time to blog - although I am the queen of legitimate excuses - I couldn't see myself personally delving further (in a no-holds-barred kinda way) into my life anymore without feeling completely and utterly exposed.
But if there's one thing I've never wanted to be in life, it's a chickenshit. And I just busted myself on being one.
So for better or worse, I'm back. Maybe just once a week on Sundays, because I've started another book (more on that later) but I am, indeed back.
