To be read. To be heard. To be seen. I want to be read, I want to be heard.
Here I am showing up. Showing up and doing what I’m supposed to do to let you know I’m here. Giving you something you can recognise, turn over in your head and transform into your own thoughts, your own actions. Something that allows your humanity to connect with mine. To complete a circle whereby we can perform an exchange of energy.
I don’t want to be seen. To write requires an ego, a belief that what you say matters.
But what if I don’t have anything to say? Should I still show up? Do I still need to offer you up a crumb of hard-fought-for wisdom or something I pull out from a maelstrom of brain randomness?
Words fly out our mouths like threatened birds. Once released, they may never return.
I wrote a few blog posts this weekend. Well, I constructed them in my head, as you do. Whilst showering, whilst mulling over my coffee, whilst journaling at 2am. Determined to show up consistently. To give good blog.
But those words, every single one of them, has been set free. The words have flown.
This is all that’s left. This is all I have to share with you today.
* all quotes are extracted from When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice by Terry Tempest Williams.