It occurred to me as I re-read yesterday’s entry that my conflict towards my work stems from the fact that I don’t feel that I have a right to express myself.
For every part of me that wants to belong, another part of me wants to remain a nomad.
As a writer, I speak from a place of confusion. I don’t know if this is a good place to speak from. But that is the only place I know, at this point. Utter confusion.
I know what I want to write…but rather than write that, I go to all lengths to write tens of pages of material that is interesting and imaginative but in the end masks the truth.
So much of my doubt also has to do with the subject matter…with where I come from…my constant fear that I have no business doing this, nobody is going to want to hear or see this.
I have yet to find any other activity that so effectively puts my present life in perspective as reading old journals.
Because I am completely empty of blog post ideas, and because this month I came across many postings titled ‘Most Read post/story/article of 2016’ on many a blog and magazine website, and because (I think) I am going to try to write more personal posts in 2017… …I’ve a) decided to highlight my most read …