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Hullo my dear deserted WWWians (that's short for world wide webians)

I haven't forsaken you. Just taken a bit of a hiatus... or it's felt more like a Sabbatical. I've had time to rest and renew... and of course I've soaked up enough thoughts to expunge here.

I feel sort of bad for you. I started out this blog very logically and presentably. But as this blog was always for myself to practice and continue my writing/thinking... it became more of a crazy conglomeration of less provocative and professional (can those belong in the same sentence?) ramblings. Still, I feel somewhat braced because I have at least stayed authentic to myself. If I really wanted to be popular, I would fashion a blog that had more of a congruence to it. I would talk about current culture... fashion, food, gardening, or the like. But I'm afraid I'm much too scattered and full of life for that. I could never formulate too much routine in my life. In the end, I think I'm one of those demented arty types.

Hahaha. I have to confess, I finally got around to watching The Decoy Bride on Netflix... as I had been advised at least twice by my friends. That's where I'm endeavoring for some glue to hold this post together. As hard as I try not to be, I'm always half in love with the United Kingdom as a whole. At any rate, today was a day where I ended up on top of the roof. I'm rather fond of climbing on things. Always was. My mother used to refer to me as a monkey and had to resort to strapping me into the grocery carts. And my grandmother gradually stopped worrying about me perched precariously on things. Sorry rabbit trail. So I was sitting on the roof watching this magnificent sunset (it's the balmiest December ever), when I realized that living alone has been extremely good for my soul and creativity. I think I've had writer's block for quite some time (hence the subject title) and it's all other people's fault. Harsh. Just kidding of course.


I do think this period of isolation is giving me back some of my original imagination and creativity back (probably not entirely a good thing... since I used to pretend I was stuck on earth and Luke Skywalker was going to rescue me). I was quite a lonely child. I grew up without siblings around (as my sibling is quite elderly... I say that merely because it will make him quite grumpy even though he'll never actually read this). So I was that child... the one that talked to imaginary friends. It was my great solace to know that I could always be part of the inner circle at least in my own world. C. S. Lewis (still trending love for the UK) spoke brilliantly about a phenomenon called the Inner Ring. You can read about it here http://www.lewissociety.org/innerring.php

If you do your reading what I have to say next will make more sense, but even if you don't I imagine you can understand well enough what I'm referring to. I've always been lured by the desire to be part of the Inner Ring. It is a desire that I must break before it breaks me. For as Lewis says "As long as you are governed by that desire you will never get what you want. You are trying to peel an onion: if you succeed there will be nothing left. Until you conquer the fear of being an outsider, an outsider you will remain" Everyone struggles with this... some are more self-aware than others. I see it in my family, extended family, friends, generation, American culture, and especially in the rapidly burgeoning world of social media. It's a bit terrifying and it prompts me to want to ring the bells of warning.

But mostly I must ring them for myself. The difficulty in being creative... and also needing to be in the Inner Ring... is the risk of prostituting oneself for recognition. It is something I dread fearfully. I do not yet know how to tread the line of giving all of oneself without needing anything in return. I am still concave with longingness (grins). And perhaps this is a secret of the universe I will not know until I see the face of God. I just pray I will not fall trap to the hamster treadmill of *bootstraps achievement and acclaim. I want to create and belong... but not to create in order to belong. I do not want to be loved for what I can do, write, imagine, conjure up... but because I am who I am... even on terribly bad days where I have appalling writer's block or get irrationally mad at alcohol's existence.

*bootstraps refers to the idea that one has pulled oneself by one's own bootstraps... it does not play well with grace or humility.