In the time since I wrote my last full-length post, I’ve started writing a handful of other blog posts. Good, right? Yes, except for the minor fact that they’re all sitting incomplete in my drafts folder. I don’t know why, but I start each of those posts with a vigor, an inner excitement about being able to put my thoughts and feelings into words and share them with you. Though, somewhere along the line, I look at what I’ve written and all I see is facile, simplistic word-vomit that I couldn’t possibly publish.
Looking back at the types of things I had begun writing about (dealing with rejection, the folly of expectation, the thing you fear most), I realize that they’re actually very thoughtful topics and not simplistic at all. What’s been happening, I think, is that I’ve been unconsciously employing a defense mechanism, here. See, I’m an extremely private person, so whenever I wish to write about something personal or intimate I have many levels of self-preservative mechanism to surpass before that can happen.
In the time since I’ve been home (yep, still funemployed), I’ve been riddled with quite a bit of insecurity and self-doubt; even in areas that I tended to be fairly confident about, like my writing ability. I’m in a rut, though it’s a good one. Not “good” in the sense that I like to feel this way, but that it’s forced me to see both myself and the world in a new light. For example, I’ve learned—really learned—that my worth as a human isn’t diminished by my joblessness. My value isn’t determined by what I do or don’t have or what I can or can’t do.
My worth is in the fact that I merely exist. I’m valuable because God made me and He loves me and He says I’m valuable. And I can live with that.
I can also live with the fact that this post may not be very cohesive and that it went in a completely different direction than I anticipated. Oh well, c’est la vie.