I want to write... I want to write good things... strong things... inspiring things.
I have a list.
I keep it in a chartreuse coloured moleskin on my desk. The pages are lined with rows upon rows of titles... fragments of ideas... quotes and lines from songs that I find poignant, and hope will inspire me to come up with brilliant words of my own.
But I don't.
I won't say that I can't... because I know that I can. I am capable.
I don't because I am afraid... I am afraid that someone will notice, and that they will read my words and disapprove. I am afraid that "they" will think that I am some sort of phony, wannabe writer... that my words are not worthy of others eyes.
I have so many things that I would like to write about... thoughts and experiences that I would like to share... because I know that so many people are going through life much the same as I am... and there can comfort in sharing these experiences... but I am afraid.
And I am envious.
I envy those women... those bloggers... who can express themselves with such clarity... such beautiful words... who can open their experiences and thoughts up to the scrutiny of the anonymous interwebs... their words are beautiful... and inspiring...
And I pale in comparison.
Wow... how's that for a pity party?