If I was embarrassed, would you want to see it?

Creative writing has always been really funny to me because I never knew how to start a piece. How does one start this flow of consciousness just from pen to page to thoughts? Let’s begin! I mean, seriously, I can’t be the only one who finds writing and throwing up similar. Between feeling choked up with all these words that you want to say yet having no way to say them in a cohesive manner, let alone be able to tell a story good enough to read. Then you must go through the additional effort of editing and publishing all that word vomit and having other people look at it. It’s quite a crude feeling indeed.
With that said, I’ve really taken this challenge to heart with wanting to write every single day. The permission has seemed to also manifest into writing multiple times a day. What’s really nice about setting the parameters of being allowed to write anything as long as it meets the word limits of vocal has really inspired me to just allow myself to let go and just put down thoughts to paper.
It’s also posed the question: why is it so embarrassing to put ourselves out there? Creativity has always been a big part of my life (my most notable accomplishment being an art award from school, where the prize was about $50 worth of art supplies back in the 2000s) and it’s always bled into other areas of my life. Yet I still hate to show my work! It’s such a similar sentiment to vomiting and then asking you to please come over and look at it because I’ve cleaned it up a bit— truly a horrendous exchange— yet I believe that’s what makes art, art. It’s not easy to put yourself out there, let alone when you have complicated emotions like grief, love, lust, ambition— all these powerful sentiments other people can relate to, but that you’re just not sure they can relate to you quite exactly like you do. It’s in that singularity, that peculiarity that I believe is what makes a difference in how we view ourselves as artists alike. A signature print that we leave as we spend time on this earth— you know a Dali from a Van Gogh from a Tim Burton and even when there’s work that’s similar you still know that the essence is different. It’s a replica. That’s incredibly intimate; art is incredibly intimate in its singularity.

That singularity often makes it really difficult for me to express myself, especially with any sort of physical media. I don’t believe my work is bad in fact on my own harshest critic. I also don’t think I’m particularly special feeling sad or lonely. And yet I find myself in this crossroad of not wanting to let people in, but also wanting to share what I create. I’m not sure what will happen after 30 days of doing this, but I can already tell a minor difference with wanting to share and publish I can actually get to the finish line this time around.

Lastly, I just say that if you’re also struggling to post or write or blog or do any of the amazing things that out to do just know OK it’s OK that it’s hard to OK that it’s hard to OK that you haven’t been able to the world but just know that you’ll get there that things take time And you can do it when you’re ready just like I am right now 💓

P.S Now, although my posts may age like a middle schoolers Tumblr page, I would like to give you the assurance that I at least always attempted to put something edible in front of you, metaphorically speaking that is lol