Tag Archives: society

You Don’t Have To

There’s a lot of guilt and obligation floating around both online and off. And while you don’t have to believe a word that I say—trust me, I don’t always believe these myself—just for today, try.

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You don’t have to hide your quirks. They make you unique.

You don’t have to drink coffee, and if you do, it doesn’t have to be designer Arabica beans or a $6 latte from Starbucks.

You don’t have to love a certain food because everyone else seems to love it. You can if you want, but do it for you. Not for any other reasons.

You don’t have to check your phone right this minute. Remember how life was a decade ago? Whatever it is can wait.

You don’t have to be the best parent, spouse or friend, but you do have to be there when those people need you.

You don’t have to love yoga or CrossFit or running. Try to be healthy, but be healthy for you. We all need to find out what works.

You don’t have to like everyone and everyone doesn’t have to like you.

You don’t have to cook complicated meals with a lot of ingredients. Microwaves were made for a reason.

You don’t have to make Pinterest-worthy desserts. Bakeries are there for a reason, as are Betty Crocker and Duncan Hines mixes.

You don’t have to pin a damn thing.

You don’t have to hide your successes, but it’s far more impressive when others discover your charm without you having to tell them.

You don’t have to tweet a damn thing.

You don’t have to be mean to be funny. In fact, you don’t have to be mean at all.

You don’t have to love your job. You don’t have to hate your job. But you should do a good job when your name and your rep are attached.

You don’t have to tell everything you know because you have a spare minute.

You don’t have to undervalue your strengths or overvalue your mistakes.

You don’t have to hide your scars. They show that you have survived.

You don’t have to take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

You don’t have to compromise convictions to be compassionate.

You don’t have to write a book. You don’t have to read a book, but if you don’t, you’re missing out.

You do not have to complain each time you’re annoyed, but silent gratitude feels rather wasted.

You don’t have to love being a parent all the time. You don’t have to feel guilty for that.

You don’t have to complain about being a parent all the time. Nobody likes a martyr.

You don’t have to write if you really don’t want to, and when you do, write for yourself.

You don’t have to compare yourself to others. You are you. That is enough.

You don’t have to be inspirational—life isn’t unicorns and glitter—but everyone has their own junk. Try and provide some relief.

You don’t have to click on the link and read through. In fact, you can log off.

You don’t have to make the bed, fold the laundry or clean every day. A house is meant to be lived in.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. Nobody does, and you don’t have to believe them if they tell you they do.

You don’t have to take the road others have taken. Just make sure the path is your own.

And most of all, you don’t have to be the exception.

You are worthy of happiness in your life.

You are worthy of laughter, good food and good friends.

You are worthy of love and support.

You don’t have to do it alone.

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P.S.  I created a new “Illustrated Issues” tab to the top of my blog where I added some of the most popular images from Facebook and Twitter. Enjoy!

Talking Trash

When the weather permits, I do a lot of walking. And even though I’ve ranted before about the perils of pedestrian life, there is another facet of this endeavor that I have neglected to address until now.

I’ve held off addressing this in hopes that my eternal annoyance would disappear like my motivation to write has in the past couple of weeks. However, while walking the other day I was hit with another bolt of inspiration.

Wait. It wasn’t a bolt of inspiration. It was a mother freaking 7-11 Slurpee cup thrown out of a car going way too fast and blasting ridiculous music.

I WAS HIT IN THE BACK WITH TRASH!!!

Yes, my friends, one of my biggest pet peeves EVER is that of litter and the idiots who perform this inconsiderate and absolutely revolting act of using the world as their dumpster.

Now I ask you, what type of person just throws their shit out the window? What do they think is going to happen to it? It’s just going to magically disappear and that McDonald’s bag is going to be composted back into the soil that will later harvest the potatoes used to make the greasy French fries that once occupied said bag thrown on the side of the road?

I’ll tell you what type of person—a lazy person.

And I can just about guarantee that this lazy person is not driving a high-end sports car with delicate white satin seats that cannot be soiled by caviar juice, therefore necessitating the immediate removal of whatever caviar comes in out the car window.

In other words, I think the 1996 Ford pick-up with the window decal of Calvin pissing on the “Dodge” logo can handle having a burger wrapper on the floor for an hour.

But it’s not just getting blasted in the back with a Slurpee cup or a fast food bag, as there is litter all over the place. Between cigarette butts, junk food wrappers and even the occasional roadside bra that would likely have a more exciting story to tell than I ever will, crap is all over the place.

And I don’t know about you, but there are plenty of trashcans in my house. Maybe I’m fancy, but I have never been to the house of someone who doesn’t own a trashcan, and every gas station I have ever been to has had a trashcan.

There really is just no excuse, other than laziness.

OK. I have to admit that while I’ve never chucked a cup out the window or a wrapper on the grass, I used to have a habit of spitting out my gum in random places. It was part mini-rebellion, part lack of piece of paper to throw it in.

But I tried one too many times to throw it out my car window only to have it fly right back in or get stuck on the outside of the window and took it as a sign from the universe to change my ways. I realized that my actions could hurt people and some ant family could get stuck in that wad on their way to go ruin a picnic.

Or at the very least, gum would get stuck in my hair. Again.

Anyway, my point is that I WAS HIT IN THE BACK WITH TRASH!!! Pelted with dried Icee and disgust at the state of society! Forced to use both caps lock and exclamation points!

The world is not your trashcan and you should treat it as such. The last thing we need is a chipmunk picking up discarded cigarette butts and a nicotine addiction.

Or even worse—gum in her hair.

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What I’ve Learned from Blogging

Someone asked me how long I’ve been blogging, and just like when asked what my natural hair color is, I kind of blanked out. But long story short, I would say three or four years.

Over that time I’ve come to learn certain things, like I rarely make a long story short and how to make a picture bigger than a thumbnail (this took two years, people.) And while I know it’s boring to write about blogging, I thought I would share a few things I’ve learned (the first one evidently being I can write about whatever I want to.)

WHAT I’VE LEARNED FROM BLOGGING

Why I Write

I write because I have to. It gets me out of my head and makes me feel productive and creative and useful. When I feel I have nothing to say, I get pissy. When I get on a roll, I get almost annoyingly cheerful. I feel emotion, which is rare, and that’s how I know it’s important to me.

I Can Be Funny

I’ve learned it’s okay to be confident and I think I can be pretty funny. While that will never lead to fame and fortune, I like knowing I make someone laugh or think—even if it’s only my mom. Hi, Mom!

People Are Awesome

I can connect with a bazillion awesome people that I would never have met otherwise, and honestly, you people save my life. I never really thought I “needed” people, but I do. And to those who say “online friends” aren’t real, I will counter with the fact that if cyber bullying can and does exist, so can cyber connections.

So there.

You Can Click Away

Not everyone will like you and you won’t like everyone else. You don’t have to tell everyone all your opinions. People will disappoint you. Their blogs will change, they will sell out or maybe you’ll just grow apart. Don’t take it personally, and don’t begrudge them for choosing their path—even if that path is really annoying and lame.

Social Media Can Rock

On one hand, it’s awesome because you can connect with the bazillion awesome people I mentioned above. When I promote a post, it’s not for validation—it’s because I think you might like it and I want to share. And I love my blog’s Facebook page and comments because people interact and make me laugh or think. Muah! Big cyber air kiss!

Social Media Can Suck

But on the other hand, holy hell with the requests for retweets and sharing and a constant barrage of all the things! It’s come to the point where the writing is no longer enough. Now it’s about getting read, no matter what is written, and getting tweeted, pinned, Facebooked, etc. by the greatest number of people.

The end some posts read like a totem pole with eight different icons of where you can find the blogger who is so busy writing and building a brand that they don’t have time to read your blog but be sure to read theirs, share the post and vote for them in a contest!

No thanks. I don’t understand Instagram, Redditt, etc. and YouTube has a video of a turtle eating a raspberry that I’m pretty cool with.

See “click away” point up above.

It’s a Hobby

I get that there’s a constant blogging popularity contest going on, but when it comes to aggressively pimping myself out, I’ll pass.

It would be great to be able to make a living doing something I love, but not at the expense of authenticity or what minimal sanity I have left. I read blogs I enjoy. I don’t read blogs I don’t enjoy, even if they’re “OHMYGOD the most connected blogger ever.”

At the end of the day, there are millions of blogs out there and only so many eyes to read them, with even fewer dollars to support them. If you’re in it for the money, good luck with that.

I Can Only Be Me

I can be naive. I can be vulnerable. When I can’t write I stress out a bit, but only because I want to entertain you. Or more likely because I  had to wear a “real” bra for more than five hours, which is probably the reason. Let’s be honest.

But long story short, I have issues. So do you.

I’ve learned that that’s more than okay.

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What have you learned from writing or reading blogs?

It’s (not) Complicated

Long story short: People complicate things.

Long story long: I’m using my cat as a reference even though I’m not particularly thrilled about owning a cat.

The disclaimer is that Monie is basically the sweetest feline on the planet, and with the exception of shedding, somehow whizzing on the top of her covered litter box—parents potty training little boys, I feel your pain—and attempting to eat my fake trees, she basically does nothing wrong.

It’s not her. It’s me.

She’s so damn hairy and clingy and happy all the time. I don’t do clingy or hairy, and I’m much more Grumpy Cat than a purring Pollyanna. 

Wee! I’m fat and chasing a feather!

She just wanders around the house making little Gremlin sounds that are either of delight or a coded message of impending world domination, and no matter what happens she’s simply a peach.

My point isn’t to highlight the fact that my cat is entirely more mentally stable than I am—the fake tree she tries to eat would fall into that category most days—but rather to highlight how animals get those things right that humans continue to complicate.

They don’t have to work, pay bills or bathe on a regular basis—which could describe some humans I know—but as far as we can surmise, they live in the moment of “now.” They feel what they feel, they let you know and then move on to whatever is next.

Life is so simple for them.

Yes, let’s sleep on a shelf instead of your cat bed.

I was thinking about this the other day as I lint rolled the cat directly, my latest attempt at being proactive. As humans, we’re bombarded by vision boards, motivational posters and the reminder to manifest a constant state of motion in attempts to achieve more, do more, be more!

There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but from what to eat, what to wear and what to say, things that should be simple are now simply analyzed to death. Just trying to keep up with the next greatest “thing” takes away the time that someone could be actually creating the next greatest “thing” for themselves.

As a result, people today are so scared of missing out on something that they say yes to everything and then marvel at how they have no time to do anything.

See how we complicate things?

I’m included, of course, as I continue to be the stereotypical artist searching for  my Three Things. With each dead end I want someone to tell me how to do ALL the things so I can have ALL the happy emotions.

But much like me waking up to find I’ve suddenly grown boobs, that’s not going to happen. I can either obsess over it or I can be okay with where I am with the understanding that it’s not where I have to be forever.

Does this ease the frustration?

No, not really. But maybe I need to take a note from the cat. Eat and enjoy food. Play. Laze around in the sunlight. Don’t feel guilty. Be curious and not cynical. Forgive someone if they accidentally lock you in the sun porch for an hour or so.

Remember that yes, things can get hairy. But at the end of the day, wherever you are is okay.

moniebag

Even if it’s on my reusable grocery bag, which coincidently, now lives there in my kitchen for her to plop on while I use another one I purchased to replace that one instead.

At least she’s not on the couch. 

You learn to pick your battles.

Lesson learned.

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Letting It Go

I used to journal all the time.

This was before blogs and the option to share every waking thought with the rest of the planet, and I had notebook after notebook filled with thoughts on school and work and of course, food and exercise.

Looking back now I remember writing some of the entries and never being completely honest out of fear that someone would find them and read them, something that would have completely devastated me. But yet I wrote—day after day—about things going on in my life. Whether or not it was helpful in the end is up for debate, but at the time I felt like it helped.

I’ve stopped journaling for the most part.

If I spend time writing, I figure something has to come of it so all of that time wasn’t wasted. After all, what good is writing if nobody reads it but me? How will people know I’m struggling with something or that I have opinions on ALL OF THE THINGS?

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So instead of writing things out for myself when I notice some sort of emotion, I often dismiss it and push it so far on the backburner that it falls behind the metaphorical stove. I might write a post, but I edit myself, aware that there’s a fine line between introspection and navel gazing—a line that I’m always worried I’m crossing.

It’s times like these that I forgot the value of writing just to write, and that sometimes the end result is insignificant in comparison to the process. It’s not about approval or attention, but rather getting the words out of my head and onto a page at some point—if only just for me.

In other words, attachment to the process, not attachment to results.

This applies to so many things in my life. However, seeing as I am one of those moody writers who struggles with how much to share and fears the last thing I wrote will be the last thing that I EVER write, it makes a good comparison.

But big picture, it means taking a walk without worrying about the distance or sitting outside without feeling the need to be “doing.” It means not worrying about wasting the time that I spend, if the time that I spend brings me some sort of insight or peace.

Easier said than done, I know.

It’s easy to get caught up in the societal expectation that you not only have to “do” and produce results, but also tell everyone else that you’re “doing” and producing results in order to prove that you’re doing “enough,” or else you’re just wasting your time.

At least that’s what creeps into my head at times when I start to write something I know I won’t post or I sit on the deck with a book. Shouldn’t I be doing something that will yield a tangible result? What’s the point if nobody knows?

The point is that not everything needs a real point, or at least not the one you expect. Journaling, painting, taking a walk, etc. “just because” can help to collect up your thoughts. No attachment to results, no expectations for reward—that’s the point.

This quote from Ajahn Chah was on my daily calendar this week:

“If you let go a little, you will have a little peace. If you let go a lot, you will have a lot of peace.”

So today I will choose to let go—just a little, just for me—and consider it all time well spent.

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The Campaign Trail

There are two things I will probably never ever write about with any seriousness on this blog—religion and politics.

me-for-president

That would be because I’m not religious (although I give the stereotypical eye roll-inducing response that I’m spiritual) and I hate politics. So instead of debating either, I will accept the label of being an apathetic heathen.

Don’t tell my grandma.

But it’s already started—the unsolicited phone calls from automated political headquarters, yards filled with signs endorsing candidates for elected positions I never knew existed and the annoying ads on TV.

You can’t avoid it and they’re all the same.

If a candidate really wanted to get my attention, he/she would make an effort to differentiate their platform somehow. Down with spending millions of dollars on a campaign instead of actually fixing the roads or funding the schools! Down with the attack ads claiming their opponent hates kittens and sunshine!

That negativity doesn’t endear them to me.

Just once I would love for a commercial to end with, “I’m (insert name of candidate here), and I once woke up in the back of a horse trailer with a bra wrapped around my head and the smell of Jager floating up in the air. I approve this message.”

In fact, I would actually endorse a candidate that approved of the following messages and made them part of their platform:

  • Yoga/workout pants will now join khakis as being classified as “business casual,” even if smattered with cat hair (hypothetically speaking.) 
  • All 20-year old girls who shriek, “OMG, I’m getting so old, you guys!” will be exiled to a special hut where they will be forced to listen to John Tesh albums and clean mini-blinds.
  • The Fashion Police will be given adequate resources to affect change in the area of footwear—people wearing sandals must not have nasty feet and anyone wearing Crocs is not allowed to be upset when not taken seriously.
  • Companies that send you an email confirming your unsubscription from their emails will be sent an email informing them that’s why you are unsubscribing from their emails and then banned from All The Internets.
  • If the toilet paper roll is installed in improper underhand fashion anywhere and you are not able to correctly adjust it, you have permission to leave and go somewhere else where it’s “right.”
  • Most of the ridiculous words added to the Oxford Online Dictionary—such as “Grrr,” “Totes” and “Woot”—will be removed to include useful ones, such as “Peegret”: The regret you experience when you leave hastily from a location without relieving yourself.
  • There will be no such thing as gay marriage. It will henceforth just be called “marriage,” as that’s what the hell it is.

My name is Abby, and I would approve of this message.

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Nothing to Sneeze At

While I generally reserve my judgment of people until they say something stupid, I have to admit that I have an unnatural distrust of people who hold in their sneezes to sound like little dainty mouse squeaks.

sneeze

There is nothing natural about this, and if they can’t be trusted to honor the natural cleansing of one’s nasal passages of harmful things like germs and irritants, what else are they hiding?

One can never be sure.

But on some level, I suppose I can relate.

I’ve said it before — I don’t have a cute little button nose. My nose has a bump in the middle and is anything but little and cute. There’s nothing dainty about it.

But the nose I have is the same nose that my grandpa had, my mom has and a majority of my aunts, uncles and cousins have. Along with pierogi, a love of baseball and politically incorrect humor, carrying on this Polish protuberance is sort of like a family seal.

This family seal also produces loud sneezes.

When I was in elementary school I used to dread having a test, mostly because the room would be so quiet that if and when I had to sneeze, I would blow the minds (and possibly eardrums) of my classmates.

I would try everything to prevent it from happening. Holding my breath didn’t work. Putting my finger or a tissue/sleeve under my nose didn’t work (but did result in having something to catch whatever flew out at the time.) Eventually I just accepted that you can’t stop sneezing from happening, just like you can’t sneeze with your eyes open.

And I’ve also accepted that sneezing while driving is quite possibly the scariest thing ever.

At any rate, when somebody sneezes I feel compelled to reactively bless them for expelling harmful things like germs and irritants through their beak—even the weirdoes that hold sneezes in.

And despite the fact I’m not religious, not saying, “Bless you” feels uncomfortable and wrong on some level.* I do it for everyone, even strangers who occasionally look at me like I just told them Richard Simmons was starring in “Rambo.”

*However, after two sneezes I will no longer bless you. At that point you have exhausted my well of goodwill and quite frankly, you’re on your own.

To me, it’s just a polite courtesy, something that let’s them know, “Hey there. It’s okay to sneeze and not try to hold it back in. Kumbaya, Hakuna Matata and gesundheit.”

Here’s a tissue.

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H-E-L-L-O*

*To heighten your experience, please read the title of this post in the manner of the “J-E-L-L-O” jingle and then carry on.

The word “hello” is only two syllables.

If you’re really feeling put out, the word “hi” is simply just one.

This means there really isn’t any reason not to say either one of those minimally syllabic words when they are thrown directly your way—even if said by a stranger. At the very least, you can finagle your lips into something that resembles a smile or nod your head in acknowledgment of said greeting.

really-enjoyed-awkwardly-waving-courtesy-hello-ecard-someecards

It’s not that difficult.

However, I have noticed that there are quite a few people in this world that find the concept of saying “hello,” “thank you” and the like tantamount to reciting the Chinese National Anthem through interpretive dance.

In fact, some will go as far as to deliberately avoid making eye contact so they don’t have to flash a smile or return a greeting.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not asking for extended chit-chat—there’s about a five minute window for that in my day—but rather just a polite “hi” if I actually made the effort myself. 

For example, there are a couple of routes I take when the weather permits me to go for my walks. Depending on when I go, there are others who are evidently also creatures of habit and walk the same general route. Some are really nice and we exchange general pleasantries — “Boy, it’s hot!” or “I think that those two squirrels are humping!”— as we pass.

If nothing else, we can smile and nod and pretend not to look at the squirrels.

However, then there are a couple people who I always walk by that refuse to acknowledge my “hi” and then my second-try smile. We pass within inches of each other on the sidewalk and they act like I’m not even there.

While I’m used to being ignored in social situations and sometimes actually prefer it, I deem this repeat behavior from strangers who haven’t had the opportunity to judge me highly unacceptable.

But I’m all about solutions, people, not excuses.

So instead of getting frustrated or disheartened at the declining congeniality of societal strangers as a whole, I’ve decided to up my game. The next time a repeat offender doesn’t say “hi” back or at least try and give me a smile, I’m going to  bust out my jazz hands and perform a bastardized version of “Rent” from Act 1 to the end.

All I want is one syllable or a freaking little smile, dammit.

Don’t make me bust out the jazz hands.

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Female Problems

I’ve always been a little confused by women.

They’ve never screwed me over or anything, but I don’t really understand them and always preferred to hang with the guys. And seeing as I generally try and avoid makeup, drama, dieting, photographs, baby things and shopping, stereotypically speaking, that excludes me from many female social circles.

And Pinterest.

socialawkward

So I do what I usually do when I don’t understand something—I avoid it.

I realize this is bad because the friends that I do have who don’t have a penis are actually really freaking cool—not to mention really freaking tolerant, seeing as they understand that my idea of excitement is sitting on the opposite end of my couch than I usually do to watch the game on a Friday night. But sometimes it’s hard not to lump the rest of the estrogen all together.

Why?

Because in between all the cool women are those annoying ones who do things like gossip about other women as a result of their own insecurity—and post 3,502 self-portraits a day, but that’s neither here nor there.

So in an effort to improve our society as a whole, I thought I would offer up some suggestions to “those” women so we can all like them more.

How to Be More Awesome

Be Decisive

Speaking in an ambiguous code and expecting others to understand and make decisions for you invalidates the power of your own intellect.  If you feel like you need to consult 40 people before making a decision or voicing an opinion, something is wrong.  Say what you mean and mean what you say and make no apologies for feeling that way.

And please, use real words.

Eat Real Food and Move On

I talk about food all the time and know that a lot of people find recipe inspiration or support for their health efforts by talking about it with others. I’m not addressing this.

I’m addressing people who constantly talk about the latest dietary restriction or crazy plan they’ve imposed upon themselves (and everyone else through pictures and constant updates) in an effort to find the “perfect” way to eat.

Here’s a tip: Don’t buy crap. Don’t eat crap. Repeat. No need to broadcast this. Also, if you use lettuce instead of bread, it’s not a sandwich. It’s basically a sleeping bag for salad.

Don’t Act Needy

Constantly seeking outside validation is the quickest way to annoy people. There’s nothing wrong with feeling insecure—heck, I’m the queen of it—but purposely acting helpless is not only annoying, it also makes the rest of us look bad.

You are stronger than you think. Embrace your strength. Don’t diminish it.

Take a Compliment

Even if you don’t agree that your haircut looks good, just zip it and say “thank you.” Someone took the time to notice and say something nice about you or what you did. Don’t act like an ass and argue with them about how you think it actually sucks.


So if you find yourself surrounded by these annoying women, remember that you have free will, ladies! Wasting energy by a) trying to shape them into more tolerable people or b) gossiping about them to make yourself feel better just pushes you into the annoying category.

Ignore, ignore, ignore.

I realize this post could make me sound like I’m hating on women, but I don’t mean that this is all women—only the ones that cause all the other awesome ones to feel stabby.

We all need to stick together, so just view this as a public service on behalf of all the cool women out there who don’t want to hear a grown-ass woman say “cray-cray” or complain that you can’t read her mind.

You. Are. Welcome.

Carry on.

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I Am, I Am, I Am…

“I think writers are the most narcissistic people. Well, I mustn’t say this, I like many of them, a great many of my friends are writers.” –Sylvia Plath

plath

While some people view Plath as a tragic case of depression and madness, I find her fascinating, and not surprisingly, highly relatable. The first time I read “The Bell Jar” I felt like I had to immediately start reading it again, both relieved and slightly spooked that someone could speak so directly to my own emotions and write about them so articulately.

She was authentic, she was unapologetic, she was the type of writer that I want to be, and lately I feel I’ve been slipping away from that for some reason.

“I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be still.”

I’m overly aware of the fact that many people think blogging is selfish and very “me, me, me” all the time. In some ways, of course it is. It’s something I do to express myself, a place where I can write about whatever it is I want to write about with no rules or regulations.

But just as I tell myself that, I simultaneously find myself getting caught up in an attachment to results and reaction. I question myself on a regular basis based solely on the fact that I see so many other people “making it big” who seem to recycle the same ideas in a way that can be described as average at best.

I don’t say that in a narcissistic way, but at times I simply want to throw up my hands and say, “Hey, Internet. WTF? What do they have that I don’t have?”

It’s not just about writing any more, it’s about marketing, something I’m not comfortable with at all. The fast-paced world of Twitter and blogging often feels like a bunch of people standing in a crowded room screaming to be heard, and quite frankly, I don’t have the energy to keep up and wonder, “What’s the point?”

“Everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”

I like writing humorous things, but when I start writing about something more personal again I feel overwhelmed and like I’m leaving something out, which to me means I leave room for misunderstanding or assumption to sneak it.

I worry that someone will read it the wrong way or cast an inaccurate judgment. I edit myself to appear a little less vulnerable than I feel in real life. I default to something more safe.

I doubt.

This is very un-Plath-like, and to be honest, very un-Abby-like as well.  And while I know that this quarterly rant of mine about my own insecurity is ironically narcissistic in and of itself and of little to no interest to you, maybe you can relate.

Maybe you’ve found yourself slipping back into “safe” mode with whatever it is that you do instead of remembering that in order to have your voice heard, you have to stay true to your authentic voice.

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”

Plath didn’t worry about Tweeting out her work or keeping up with what everyone else was doing, and she sure as hell didn’t worry about whether or not anyone approved of her writing. She wrote “simply because there was a voice within her that would not be still.”

That’s artistic, not narcissistic, and some damn good advice.

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And don’t worry. My next post is lighter and channels Martha Stewart…lord help us all.