I spend an inordinate time blogging about the “bad” things, about the uncomfortable feelings, and about endless mental biting of fingernails, scratching off my skin, and dissection of every body part and moment of life until I’m just a collection of damaged pieces, comparing myself to everyone in a world where I’ll never be good enough.
They say you shouldn’t be too dependent on external validation, but today i got some external validation that was important to me.
Yesterday I became a published author on the indie magazine elephant journal. http://www.elephantjournal.com/2014/01/dont-forget-to-smell-the-roses-megan-jones/
It’s adapted from a blog post.
I told one of my best firends about it, posting it on his Facebook wall. i did not post it on my own facebook wall, because I don’t want people to know I have deep thoughts or to brag. Actually, I think I should post it, I think I want to, anyway…
He didn’t read it right away, and being my best friend, I spent a good deal of time venting to him about Y and being all confused although maybe there’s not that much to be confused about.
Not important right now.
Anyway, he read my article and liked it. To have someone in my real life who’s not a writer like my writing means something, and the fact that it got published is pretty cool. In retrospect, I feel like all the sudden self induced suffering over Y was just a cover up for the complex feelings of exposure and vulnerability this brought me. There are some copy edit issues, and my article isn’t quite exactly in the stle of this magainze that I devour daily and as I read it, actually seems somewhat original. Everything is not quite perfectly tied up in a bow. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask you to excuse the errors and preemptively apologize for everything an say how it could have been better.
Anyway, tha was validation that actually meant something to me. Not unlike his blog, but it’s always much more vulnerable to expose yourself to people you know in real life.
And also let it be noted that my first instinct was not to share i with Y not only because it’s in English though it would have been a good pretense for emailing him but also because I don’t think he really gets it, I’m not sure if he really gets me. And the truth is it doesn’t really matter. And that there is someone out there, and luckily many people in my life, who will.
Thank you gentle readers for listening to me and giving me the courage and encouragement to share.