Suddenly the microphone was on and I wasn't sure I had anything to say. So I told a few jokes and hoped no one would notice the wrinkles on my shirt. (The wrinkles are a metaphor for my imperfections and insecurities, in case that wasn't clear.) Once I started thinking more about how my posts seemed, the joy disappeared. I still pushed myself to post on more personal topics, but I no longer felt relieved after I pushed "publish". I sort of felt sick to my stomach.
It's been a little like that in real life, too. I'm proud of how much I've pushed myself to pursue new friendships and, you know, start a brand new job in a brand new city, but along the way I realized I was holding back in my interactions with people. I was trying to understand who I was by understanding what I was showing people about myself. The result was undeniably limiting. I wasn't showing all my parts and by doing so I wasn't showing my best parts. I wasn't showing my worst parts and therefore I wasn't really connecting.
Similarly, I have been trying to understand who I am by understanding what I share on the blog. You guys seem to love the funny, light stuff, but what about the darker, heavier stuff? How do I represent all the sides of me? Because isn't that the point? How do I know I'm really representing my true self at all? What is self? What I see or what you see? Does it matter? And...how do I become comfortable sharing all of this with anyone who could come across my site? Talk about self-acceptance and self-confidence. Gulp.
This is all very existential, I realize, but the point I am trying to make is that the more I tried to see myself through other people's eyes, the more stifled I felt, and the more my capacity to connect and share and create and just be me was limited.
Being in Chicago and having the opportunity to start fresh has been eye-opening in this regard, and I'm absolutely positive that it's the reason I even started thinking about what I was publishing. (Trying to accurately and attractively describe myself in an online dating profile didn't really help the situation.)
"You can be anyone you want to be!" said a well-meaning friend upon the announcement of my move. After a brief period of extreme hesitation, I'm relieved to report that given the chance to be anyone, I've chosen to be myself. It just took me a bit to realize it was okay to be my whole self.
Ironically, what resolved this for me was asking myself not who I am, but what kind of person I wanted to strive to be. Someone who lives out loud. Someone who doesn't try to hide the struggles--who, maybe one day, can embrace them. Someone authentic and genuine and bold.
Oh. Uh. So, what was I waiting for? Permission?
So, I've given myself permission to be funny and deep, and confident if often a little bit anxious, and practical and carefree, depending on the day. Permission to be a hybrid hippie-yuppie, an adult-child, a sociable recluse. Permission to be a little giddy and a lot terrified to try out online dating. Permission to be sentimental and grounded with dreams and a mile-long To-Do-Go-See-and-Accomplish list. Permission to try something new. Permission to succeed and permission to fail. Permission to not settle. Permission to seek like-minded people going through the same things I am. Permission to celebrate all of the above and recount the many stumbling blocks and lessons along the way.
Permission to spend all the time in the world thinking about how to be a better, happier me. Permission to over-analyze just about anything except what people think about me. Permission to be whole-heartedly myself on the way to becoming the person I want to be.
And, finally, permission to ramble on about the elusive sweet spot between the roots and the wings, regardless of if the metaphor strikes anyone as much as it resonates with me.
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