Apparently, when you take a nine-month break from updating something that many of your friends and family used to follow closely, your personality, voice, demeanor, character and intelligence can look pretty different when you restart.
To some — as I found out today — that’s a letdown.
Starting to write again yesterday was a bit strange; there were a lot of things that I struggled to verbalize. A lot of the people that used to follow me last summer read it. Some people that didn’t follow me last summer read it. A lot of people gave me feedback, which — to a writer — is always appreciated, whether negative or positive.
Unfortunately, something about either how I wrote it or what I wrote about seemed to worry and confuse a few people. A handful of people jumped to conclusions that aren’t necessarily true, worrying that I’m depressed (couldn’t be more wrong), violent (no?), angry (not really) or that I’m giving up (wrong).
I’m fine, I’m having the time of my life and I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m doing very well for myself; I’d even guess better than most.
A few people even went as far as saying that they I fell short of their expectations. That confuses and surprises me.
For some reason, I’ve loved reading my words on paper (or computer screen, now) since childhood. People could theoretically never read what I write, but I derive enough satisfaction by just being able to read them myself. I almost find it therapeutic. In a journalistic setting, you have to be careful about the way you phrase things and the words you use to paint ideas. I looked (and still look) at this as a relieving format where I never have to do that. I’m a naturally profane person that doesn’t like to hold back, and I don’t have to do that here. It’s my choice.
So that’s what I do. I tell things like they are to me. I say fuck, I say shit and I say cock (on occasion). I complain about things and I question things that sometimes shouldn’t be questioned. That’s what I do in everyday life, and while that may be unsettling to some, it’s how it is. It’s who I am.
Writing is a beautiful thing because, just as easily as it can be read, it can be ignored. There’s no shame in saving yourself some trouble by electing not to read something that unsettles you. If there’s anything that I say or do that unsettles you, don’t waste your time paying attention to it. Nobody is holding a gun to your head and forcing you to embrace my ideas.
In this setting, I don’t really understand how someone could have any expectations for what they’re about to read. I really don’t understand how I could be capable of falling short of those expectations. I sit down at this computer and I write whatever I feel like writing about, and that’s it. There’s no exhaustive editing process. It’s available to anyone who wants to read it, and just as easy, it’s dismissible to anyone who doesn’t.
That being said, I’m not at all sorry about falling short of anyone’s expectations. I’m not trying to meet your expectations, I’m just fucking writing. I’m really trying my hardest to not be a dick, but if you’re unhappy with what you’re reading, or if the words that I write are somehow tainting your perception of me as a person, I’d like to politely ask you to stop reading. Stop worrying. Stop jumping to uneducated conclusions. It appears as if you’ve been riled up, so save yourself the trouble.
If you’re happy with what you’re reading, feel free to continue. I’m not going to stop writing any time soon.
All the best