Well...not all my life. I have been here, obviously. Just not "here".
The last two and a half, almost three years, have been a Shakespearean mix of comedy and tragedy, with almost as much drama.
And I have talked about parts of it here in this space. The struggles with my son. My dream job descending into nightmare territory. Making the best of my housing situation. But there is one struggle that I haven't really mentioned, and it's a question all writers grapple with from time to time:
What on Earth do I write about?
While I have run, walked, limped, and at times crawled through my personal issues, the question has always dangled just in the back of my mind: how much do I talk about on the blog? How much can I really share without fear of reprimand, or causing offense? The same goes for the sharply political turn the world has taken in the last few years as well. Where I thought my views were moderate, at best, there seems to be a running social media campaign against any kind of sensible discussion of actual issues, so much as those shouting rhetoric and insults, protected by the anonymity of the internet.
So, what on Earth do I write about?
My son's finally acknowledging, and slowly getting help for, his mental health issues?
The fact that while Black respectability politics had it's day, and still has a place in certain corridors, for most people it is a losing proposition?
My daughter's huge numbers of false starts with high school, while dealing with depression and anxiety?
The notion that we are so addicted to our feeling of superiority that we willingly ignore anything that reminds that we are all too human, and dare I say it, maybe not as great as we want to believe?
That with all of the people that I know for a fact are going through so much, are so afraid to talk about it, for fear of being labeled as negative, when in fact, all they are really searching for is acknowledgement, and maybe a little empathy?
Not everything is storm clouds, of course. My fascination with chicken wings has become a delicious search for the ultimate savory addition to a sweet favorite, waffles. I have discovered peace in unexpected places. I have come to realize why conversation is an art form. And that binge watching is the last refuge of the procrastinator.
But, what on Earth do I write about?
The last two and a half, almost three years, have been a Shakespearean mix of comedy and tragedy, with almost as much drama.
And I have talked about parts of it here in this space. The struggles with my son. My dream job descending into nightmare territory. Making the best of my housing situation. But there is one struggle that I haven't really mentioned, and it's a question all writers grapple with from time to time:
What on Earth do I write about?
While I have run, walked, limped, and at times crawled through my personal issues, the question has always dangled just in the back of my mind: how much do I talk about on the blog? How much can I really share without fear of reprimand, or causing offense? The same goes for the sharply political turn the world has taken in the last few years as well. Where I thought my views were moderate, at best, there seems to be a running social media campaign against any kind of sensible discussion of actual issues, so much as those shouting rhetoric and insults, protected by the anonymity of the internet.
So, what on Earth do I write about?
My son's finally acknowledging, and slowly getting help for, his mental health issues?
The fact that while Black respectability politics had it's day, and still has a place in certain corridors, for most people it is a losing proposition?
My daughter's huge numbers of false starts with high school, while dealing with depression and anxiety?
The notion that we are so addicted to our feeling of superiority that we willingly ignore anything that reminds that we are all too human, and dare I say it, maybe not as great as we want to believe?
That with all of the people that I know for a fact are going through so much, are so afraid to talk about it, for fear of being labeled as negative, when in fact, all they are really searching for is acknowledgement, and maybe a little empathy?
Not everything is storm clouds, of course. My fascination with chicken wings has become a delicious search for the ultimate savory addition to a sweet favorite, waffles. I have discovered peace in unexpected places. I have come to realize why conversation is an art form. And that binge watching is the last refuge of the procrastinator.
But, what on Earth do I write about?
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