So, I belong to a church email listserv. PRoblem, I know. It seems important to these two individuals to have their conversation in full view of all those reading the emails. Why can't they have a private conversation about it? Why do I need to be subjected to this? Group speech was left to deft orators. Now, any schlub can grab an audience. Oy.
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
The more things change...
You know the rest. You know how I long to do something, anything. I am full of things to say, to write. And yet afraid. So very afraid. To matter, or not to matter.
I find myself obsessively reading social media feeds, trying to find exactly the right sentiment to forward as a post for myself. Instead of just writing my own post.
I have spent years thinking of these hard things. I am woke. Or am waking. I have been waking. I want so much to help others out of bed. These things matter. It matters that I do my own small part, even if I don't do that part perfectly. I am the only one who can do my part. It has gone undone for too long.
I've imagined so many other blogs I could be writing. "But Have you Considered?" a thoughtful progressive's earnest attempts to actually persuade others over, around, and through their blind spots that cause so much pain. "Love Bandwagon," yet another privileged white woman of a certain age reflecting on her experience with polyamory. Because my insights are so different from all the other privileged white women. "That'll preach," a seminary-uneducated individual's attempt to reflect and write words that matter about things that are important. Because my thoughts on scripture, or God, or my Christian obligation, are so much deeper than all those incredibly wonderful clergy's thoughts.
There, there it is again. The fear to show my light. Who cares if other people have had similar insights before? Those were their insights. I've been so grateful to those who have shared their insights. Mine are shareable, too. Mine are worth sharing.
I find myself obsessively reading social media feeds, trying to find exactly the right sentiment to forward as a post for myself. Instead of just writing my own post.
I have spent years thinking of these hard things. I am woke. Or am waking. I have been waking. I want so much to help others out of bed. These things matter. It matters that I do my own small part, even if I don't do that part perfectly. I am the only one who can do my part. It has gone undone for too long.
I've imagined so many other blogs I could be writing. "But Have you Considered?" a thoughtful progressive's earnest attempts to actually persuade others over, around, and through their blind spots that cause so much pain. "Love Bandwagon," yet another privileged white woman of a certain age reflecting on her experience with polyamory. Because my insights are so different from all the other privileged white women. "That'll preach," a seminary-uneducated individual's attempt to reflect and write words that matter about things that are important. Because my thoughts on scripture, or God, or my Christian obligation, are so much deeper than all those incredibly wonderful clergy's thoughts.
There, there it is again. The fear to show my light. Who cares if other people have had similar insights before? Those were their insights. I've been so grateful to those who have shared their insights. Mine are shareable, too. Mine are worth sharing.
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