Spooked

I happen to be a hyper-aware person and am typically not someone who can be “got.” When I gather myself up and decide to paint at home, I’ve always got one ear and eye on the two doors in our spare room. I’m almost never home completely alone, so I’m always anticipating my mother or sister to either ask what I’m doing or, worse, just walk up and look. What’s the big deal though? I think it’s because my painting skills are so far behind my drawing skills (which are burnt out honestly) that I don’t want anyone to see these beginning stages… Though as I say that, I’m using one of these doodles for the featured photo, content to share it to however many handfuls of strangers. It could also be that I assume family or anyone who knows me off the internet would see this as a poor use of time; which I don’t particularly care about per say, but I don’t want to hear about it. So, mainly avoidance it appears.

greens and yellows

I thought until recently that this “one eye open” behavior might be true for all situations, but I recently discovered at least one place where I am comfortable enough to be spooked. If that sounds confusing, then my younger sister would agree with you. I unintentionally scared her the other day, and after her yelp of protest (and my apology) I quipped that it was a good thing because it meant she was enough at-ease to be caught off guard. She still didn’t understand, and maybe I’m making this whole thing up.

Whether I’m at home, in the car, at a friends, or a public place, I couldn’t tell you the last time someone said “gotcha!” to me. In the past month or so, it turns out my place of employment may be the exception. I usually have a book with me and when whichever coworker I’m with that day goes on her break, it’s easy for me to get lost in my story. To the point that even if I’ve just glanced up to check if a customer is about to come in, the bell has me jumping about off my stool. At first I was embarrassed, but really, what’s the big deal? I’m enjoying my book! I’m relaxed! Something I am perpetually working on.

Like sharing my thoughts. It’s so easy to say no, this isn’t worth it. What’s the point? I’ve written about this so many times you’d think by now I’d either have quit or gotten over it, but nope, I still wonder if I’m contributing anything of value. Whether it’s on Medium, Facebook, a discussion or random comment on another blog. What could I possibly contribute that hasn’t already been said?

I get spooked, convince myself it’s not worth it. Then I’ll find a spark of inspiration, state I’m changing my ways, join something new, write about something else, think I’ve got something figured out. And then the familiar insecurity sidles back up to my side with a shiver. It seems I’m always on the verge of action in so many areas, but that I can’t quite reach it for any of them. Or I skip five steps ahead mentally and find myself surprised that I’m physically in the same place, as if I can’t believe that didn’t translate.

Then there’s the opposite: I haven’t gathered enough information to write on this! Or I need to write an epic to do it justice (who would read that anyway?), and I don’t have time for that or can’t get into a flow long enough to create some masterpiece. Or find the right tags to promote it – not that I would do that anyway. It’s all so silly, but I find it important. Whether it’s important for it’s own sake or because I want to follow some special protocol for success is likely another part of my problem.

TL/DR: I’m just another human whose blog is not going how they envisioned it because their life is not going quite as they envisioned it. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing; said human just isn’t sure how much of their soul they want to bare, if it would be of any use to anyone, and how they want to go about doing it.

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