It's been two long years since I've written. I have tried numerous times, but every time I picked up a pen, I set it down again, unsure of what to say or how to say it. Even just now, mid-sentence, I instinctively reached for my cell phone, seeking distraction and delay.
Why the hesitation, the avoidance? I suspect that it has to do, in part, with the revelations that always accompany reflective writing. Truths have a way of revealing themselves in the process. But what is the truth? What is true one moment can the next be disingenuous at best, an outright lie at worst. The search for truth can lead you round dark corners and into ominous alleyways, places you'd rather not go. Or perhaps even worse, it can lead you into the harsh and unflinching light of day with no way to escape or deny what is so painfully obvious in front of you.
It occurs to me that we have been conditioned to believe that truth is something painful or ugly or disappointing. "The cold hard truth" and the "harsh light of day" don't exactly inspire confidence and hopeful anticipation. Apparently, whatever the truth may be, it is destined to be undesirable.
Maybe it doesn't have to be this way. Maybe truth can be gentle and welcoming like the blush of a brand new day, or perhaps inviting like a cool pool of water on a hot day, beckoning us to dive in and revel in its refreshing relief from the crushing heat all around us. Maybe it's simply a matter of perspective, choosing to believe instead that "the truth shall set you free."
I don't know if finding the truth will "set me free." I'm not even sure what truths I am seeking. I do know, however, that we live in a world where people seem increasingly convinced that their truth is The Truth. I am under no such delusions. I know that what is true for me isn't necessarily true for others. Which makes me believe that, in the end, maybe truth isn't some hidden treasure, waiting to be discovered. Some truths might just be instead nebulous works of art created within ourselves.
I began reading your post, thinking that I'd be writing commiserations in the comments, acknowledging how hard it is to get back into the writing groove....but then your post took such an unexpected, fun twist. I loved your explorations of how to think about "truth"--that paragraph with the possible positive metaphors for truth is just beautiful. And that last line--true being a nebulous work of art--is such a wonderful finale. I'll look forward to reading more of your posts this month!
ReplyDeleteDear Ms. Regan:
ReplyDeleteI cannot tell you the incessant excitement that increased with every word that I read in your post. I'm secretly wondering if your two-year absence didn't serve to make your reflections even more robust and profound! I found them to be most captivating.
How eloquently you describe both the anticipation and the angst. I am often enamored with writers who depict pain in such a picturesque manner. Your literary gems are enchanting:
- dark corners and ominous alleys
- the blush of a brand new day
- beckoning us to dive and revel in its refreshing relief
The truth is, it is indeed a gift to the readers that you have returned to this sacred space. I am elated to dive into your meaningful musings. And to think, there are thirty more days of delight.
#cheers
Dr. Carla Michelle, Year 4 Slicer