This blog (if I were more postmodern, I’d refer to it as my “space”), is one of my favorite things to do. I won’t lie. Lots of people put off their hobbies as “oh it’s nothing.” But, no, not really. I look forward to the times when conversing with someone and a thought creeps in, so that I feel “I’m going to have to blog about that.” It feeds into my fb account and I’ve had a few people who have complemented me on some of my posts. It makes me happy to know that someone felt some sort of satisfaction after reading (as opposed to “well, that’s 10 minutes I’ll never get back”). It’s a personal accomplishment that I once wrote prose about a lasagna and got over 10 comments on it.
It’s a dream that someday I can spend my time and energies reading interesting things and talking to interesting people so that I can somehow tell their stories and have people enjoy them. Part of the satisfaction comes from completing the piece itself. Another part comes from knowing that someone else (preferably multiple someones) experiences a benefit as well. Win win. Win.
So you can imagine my disappointment when I learned that I’m not the natural writer-type.
I just started Anne Lamott’s book Bird by Bird // Instructions on writing and life, and she goes on about the different writers with whom she has interacted. How they love poetry and see the world differently and have these artsy quirks. I am not one of these people. I love to read, but the classics aren’t where I spend my time. I like pretty things, but art and sculpture and even nature sometimes loom above my head. And I just don’t like poetry. Never have.
I’m not artsy. Last week I attempted to create personalized stationary and there were tears. The stationary required only one piece of clipart (ganked from google images) and 3 text boxes. All the same font. I can’t sew my own curtains, crochet my own hats or even accessorize my own wardrobe. I’ve been wearing the same earrings since 1999. And painting? JJ won’t even let me at the walls with a single color and a roller. Who am I kidding?! I couldn’t even pick out the paint COLOR on my own!
I have a few slight quirks. I like to eat the broken tortilla chips. My favorite aisle in Target is the office supplies section. And nothing excites me more than filling in a new calendar or planner. But, unlike the artsy brilliant types, this doesn’t give me opportunity to see the world in a different way. I don’t have a different perspective. I’m just exceptionally organized and inflexible.
So unlike the hero in many stories who finds out that he’s “different” and spends his life attempting to assimilate and hide his inconsistencies, I had the exact opposite downer day. I’m realizing how insanely normal I am. Well, at least I’m a bit odd in my dissatisfaction with my normalness.