Finding My Voice

Somewhere deep inside me there is a writer. She has a strong voice that will speak to and for many people, including myself. I know that. Right? In moments of inspiration I get some clarity about who I am and what I want to say. I get excited and an idea of what I will say and how I will say it forms. Then I get to my computer, or find a private moment to write it down, and it fades. I sit and stare. I worry about who will want to read this, what people will think of me. I worry about people I know reading it and judging me negatively and then having to face them. I worry about offending people. I have a strong fear of opening myself up too much, of letting people see too deeply, too intimately, and how that will affect my life. Yet, I've found many times that doing just that opens doors and leads to amazing relationships and experiences.

Could that be the biggest thing that is holding me back? Fear? I've dreamed of being a writer since I was a little girl. I remember being in grade school and enthusiastically attacking any and all writing assignments. I do remember stumbling when trying to create fictional works--I have come to realize that I am not a fiction writer--but still I always loved to write. I fancied myself being a writer when I grew up. Somewhere along the way I let that dream get lost.

At the end of this year I will turn 50. I do not feel old, but the number, the sound of the word "fifty" is blowing my mind. How can this be? In my mind I am still the little girl in school excited to tackle a new writing assignment.  I'm still taking a high school journalism class and considering being a reporter. I am keeping a daily diary, which I eventually edit and turn in to fulfill assignments in college classes on relationships and self-knowledge (I was going to become a family counselor by that time). The feedback I got on those assignments was always encouraging, validating. My professors got to know me on a very intimate level, but it did not extend past them--no one else saw that deeply into my soul. And I moved on after a semester and never had contact with them again. It
was actually pretty impersonal.

This writing has been a catharsis that fulfills my need to express myself. But I need more. On those few occasions when I have shared, my readers have responded in ways that have touched me and made me feel that I was helping them, too. Although I often feel like I'm the only one who feels a certain way, or notices something a certain way, when I do dare to share my perceptions and the related emotions in writing, I get feedback thanking me for expressing something that someone else has felt and been unable to express. Or maybe they just felt alone and it helped to know they are not. Recently I got what I consider to be my first fan letter. It was an email from a friend that I had not had much contact with in years. She had read my Christmas letter, which I send to old friends, and was touched by something I said. I mentioned how, despite all the amazing experiences and other facets of my life,  I wish I could find a life partner. I hesitated about including that statement in my letter, but I opted to do so because I wanted people to know that my life is not perfect, no matter how awesome it sounds in those letters or on Facebook. I have dreams and unfulfilled wishes, empty spaces. This friend related to that and felt the need to thank me for those words. I was thrilled to receive her email and even now, months later, I am tearing up thinking about it.

To get back on track...I was talking about fear. I've been doing a lot of spiritual work these last few months as I try to make my 50th year the best year of my life so far. I am following two programs developed by Debbie Ford. I am working on "The 21-Day Consciousness Cleanse" and "The Best Year of Your Life." One of the things that Debbie asks is if I am acting from a place of faith or a place of fear. I am trying very hard to only act from a place of faith, but I have to admit that fear is holding me back in this particular area. It's not completely irrational. In my mind, I am also still the teenage girl with overwhelming emotions whose mother read her diary without permission. I burned that diary. I wish I still had it; I would really love to be able to recall who I was and how I saw the world then. I would like that tangible piece of my personal history. I am also still the grown woman, almost 40 years old, whose boyfriend snooped in her stuff and found her journal, then used things he read against her.  Even now he still has copies of pages that contained very personal revelations that it took courage to write even believing it was for my eyes only. There are reasons for my fear. And blogging, not to mention writing a book that might get published and reach thousands of people, really puts me out there. I need to express the truth, I need to be authentic, but it sure is scary to think that some of my most intimate thoughts, dreams, feelings will be on display, public. And yet something is pulling me in this direction. I feel I have something to give.

Today I will start to face that fear. People often ask me how I have the nerve, the courage, to do some of the things I do. (As this blog unfolds you will hear about some of those things. The most recent was a trip to Nepal to hike to Mt Everest Base Camp.) "Aren't you afraid?" The answer is an emphatic, "Yes!" I am afraid. Often. But that does not stop me. It may slow me down, but it does not stop me if what I want is truly meaningful to me. Today I am starting to face the fear that has prevented me from sharing what I have to say. Maybe my voice will be a voice for others, will help others find their own voice.

This is my first blog entry. This is the start of Me, Part Two.