Look at Me! Look at Me!

I am blogging (in case you haven't noticed) and I have lots of mixed feelings about this. Feeling number one is the topic of the day.

Posting a blog on the internet...public...World Wide Web...with global accessibility. Why would someone do that? To be read. Because you have something to say. Attention for your ideas or yourself but attention is the ultimate and only reason. 

I feel shame around any attention seeking no matter how subtle, this shame applies to myself and others. Whenever I watch YouTube and vloggers start clamoring for attention, I feel revulsion at the hunger of it. 

I could just let people do their own thing, to each his own, que sera sera and all that. Just because they have different needs than mine doesn't make them bad or wrong; logically I know this, but logic isn't part of this equation. I feel disgusted and I feel cruel for my disgust.

My abject distain for attention seekers is probably a dysfunction on my part. I assume it is normal and human to want at least a little attention. We want acknowledgement that our existence is meaningful to others.

But attention seeking is different from attention getting. I don't feel disgusted by those getting attention, just when they pander for it. Getting attention is a byproduct of being alive and the more interesting you are the more eyes you will attract. I don't have a problem with that, but I do have a problem with it. 

Getting attention makes me curl in on myself. Imagining getting attention gives me panic. I have worked my whole life, toiled and labored to be invisible. I've mostly succeeded. 

And now here I am, blogging. What the hell is wrong with me? My lips are numb.

So why am I here? I might not have a solid answer for that. 

I wanted to be a writer since I learned to read and I wrote stories as soon as I learned to write. Teachers applauded my writing, but I was also told "people just don't make a living as writers". I got older and despite always writing and talking about being a writer, I didn't even try getting published. I went to college and didn't major in English. I have entered a total of four, count them on one hand, four, writing contests in my life. I keep creating and erasing blogs. 

I have asked whether a person needs to be read to be considered a writer. I have asked what I want from my writing. I don't have answers to these questions either. 

Now I'm blogging again because it feels powerful. I am filled with trepidation. I don't know where it will lead or where I hope it will lead, if anywhere, but just the act of writing and publishing on a regular basis touches my tender bruises but also makes me aware that my fear has kept me small. If I have any hope of crawling out of this hole of fear I find myself in, this is it. 

I hope pray expect will see how my strength holds up in this endeavor.