I find myself becoming more frustrated at the amount of access I give people to my life in relation to how little I received reciprocally.
This journal is being followed and maybe read by 20. Two if them are anonymous and of the other 18 that aren't, there is so little access we might as well not even talk.
It bothers me because the information here us freely given and it is about the deepest parts of me. Things I don't say anywhere else to anyone else and people can just put this in a feed reader and have it as their side companion. That's how easy it is to know the inner workings of my mind.
Then there's you - the readers. What do I know about the parts of you that I write about me? Maybe the upper flake of ice on a ten-mile iceberg. Why am I doing this to myself? Eventually I'll remember that I wanted to share and help people and I still do but I'm one with giving myself to people that don't/wont/can't give themselves to me.
I don't know what that will look like or what form it will take except for one word loudly echoing in my mind...
Less.
I love how I was feeling like I hadn't been there as a friend so I decided to catch back up on you so I could then move forward in friendship and this is the blog. It's a good thing, I think.
ReplyDeleteI'm sick of being that person who is never there.