Here we go with another first Wednesday of the month. Can you believe it’s April already? I can’t. Where is the time going?
Anyway…since everyone else in the writing community is off A to Zing, I don’t expect much traffic today so I’m gonna rant a little. My rant is NOT particular to writing but to insecurity in general.
What I can’t understand is why an intelligent, basically mature person, who is basically pretty comfortable in their own skin, is still so insecure in some areas of their life. Yeah, that would be me.
I’ve overcome the, ‘do these jeans make me look fat?’ because I already know what makes me look fat, and I run in the opposite direction, no matter what fashion might dictate. I’m not concerned about hanging with the ‘right’ crowd, but would rather be with the crowd that I’m comfortable with, people who share some of my interests and ideals, but yet present new enough ideas that I can learn from them. I read and listen to all of the advice about writing, working and living in general, but at the same time I know that everyone else is searching for the answer just as I am. I know where to look for truth and basically make up my own mind about it. I’m pretty good at spotting the frauds, you know the people who tear everything down because they are so unhappy with themselves. I know certain people, who if they say nothing about a particular accomplishment of mine, confirm to me that they think said accomplishment was really very special. I’ve also come to recognize those who have to nitpick for the tiniest little error, just so that you can’t be right or have done something praiseworthy.
I’ve been put down because of my sex, occupation, choices, religious beliefs, careers, and friends, and I’ve managed to shrug it off. I’ve endured insults to my intelligence, race, and background. I’ve listened to all the ‘your momma’ (more likely in my case daddy) jokes, judging me by the actions of my family and known that although it hurts, I am not responsible for anyone’s actions but my own. I’ve lived many different places and had to adapt to different cultures and customs and been made fun of, because I didn’t understand the world I was living in.
All of this that seems easy to take in stride and yet I’m insecure. I tinker with things like my writing over and over always thinking it isn’t good enough. Always wanting to entertain, educated and help others endure life. I can sink into the darkest hole and imagine all sorts of terrible things about myself, over little incidences that I would make a thousand excuses for in the case of someone else.
So, you tell me, what is it that makes me so hard on myself? Is it because I strive for a perfection that I’ll never really achieve in this lifetime or is it simply that I want to be liked? Either way it makes me feel kind of pathetic. See, there I’m doing it again.
Most if not all of these insecurities are not something I like to talk about. In actuality talking about myself is not something I really like to do unless I can hide behind a story about someone else who impacted my life. Stepping out on a limb today, most likely because I don’t expect much traffic.