Acceptance Amidst Self-Scrutiny
Today brought a strange mix of acceptance and self-scrutiny.
On one hand, I posted an article that I had fun producing. On the other hand, I cringe at the slightly exploitative and stereotype-enforcing attempt to gain clicks. Despite (or perhaps, in spite of) my idealism, I have entered into a strange new reality where I have actually volunteered myself, my work, for anonymous approval.
There is always a vacillating conflict between the need to express and the fear of judgment. Often times, work I produce based on what I perceive will be more widely-accepted or intriguing draws the most criticism from myself. Yet, the work I feel most inherently compelled to explore feels too personal or singular to appeal to a broad audience. When it comes to good writing, whose opinion counts? (I’m just going to have to scratch my head at that one.)
The abrupt record-skips of weather between winter and spring have confounded my need for certainty. In a way, I kind of feel like Mother Nature was making up for a mild winter the way a guilty friend splurges on a belated birthday present. Tah-dah! Better late than never, right?
Petty complaints aside, the weather has provided an accurate commentary for the eclectic emotional states I keep finding myself in. One minute, I am walking languidly, with the sun warm on my skin. The next minute, I am shivering so badly, I actually daydream about a Snuggie. The bitter with the sweet. It’s my favorite flavor.
Feeling wildly grandiose in my expectations yet insistent that good, rewarding things are tangible. I find encouragement in strange places. In a health food store cashier giving me props on my produce selection. In a former grudge’s inadvertent redemption. In noisy, busy coffee shops. In a meal shared with curious company. In an unexpectedly candid conversation. The thread is faint but endless, creating tiny stitches that connect us. I feel the tug more persistently these days.
