Regaining Fluidity on the Page

I could declare my intention to fill my salon exclusively with writings on things weighty and meaningful but I flinch at the implications of importance, the suggestion of my competence. I would almost certainly disappoint.

The self-doubt really haunts me, leading to further exploration  into what I mean to do with this blog. In a nutshell, the college degree, without any measurable application, has functioned as a shame-enhancer for me: “Yes; I know, a BA! And I’ve never used it!” Here, I mean to function independently of the degree, impervious to its existence.

I was always vocal as a child.  Highly opinionated.  My parents were both vocal, each with unrealized potential and constantly performing for each other with what seemed exaggerated if impressive eloquence. I definitely picked up the habit: I’ve been accused of hyperbole online and have, since, become a church mouse. I’ve devolved somewhat into a silent woman.

Admittedly, the greatest problems I’ve encountered in my life have stemmed, aside from my own poor decision making, from my words.  I’ve been reckless, on occasion.  Too quick and too sharp.  Often cocky.

Since leaving my comfortable, off-grid lifestyle in 2012, I’ve been steadily falling away from my daily, cursive journal-writing.  I used to write volumes, including a full journal each year.  As soon as I left the woods, and gained access to the internet, my journaling fell away~replaced with what seemed, initially, to be the relatively superior format of social media correspondence. This experience has obscured and nearly dissolved my natural writing inclinations.

Internet or not, I did come back to Maine, after losing my father, in 2012,  with a solid vision of “recovering”, finally, my true, confident voice.  I haven’t done very well.  Any self-confidence I may have cultivated out west, has, somehow, nearly evaporated back here in Maine.  I was too eager and clumsy when I arrived.  Too needy or maybe just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I do miss California, like one misses her youth or her younger limbs.  But mostly I miss myself.  I am reclaiming the pleasures of reading, offline, and the sanity of writing in my journal often, which is always restorative.  To write here, in my Salon, is the place, as I’ve said, where art…(my writing, for these purposes) and humility…(my experience!) meet.

I’m meaning to write myself back into form,…an older soul with a glorious, timeless plan: to recover my voice and say exactly what I like, at my chosen volume.