Burning a Hole in My Pocket

Ever feel the sting of a coin in your pocket as you walk through a street? You pass a busker, a homeless man, or more than a few sale signs. Like a kindred spirit, it yearns to be free. Sometimes you'll chuck it in any adjacent guitar case, but more often than not, it'll sit in your pocket. As you walk, it'll get heavier. The heavier it gets, the more excuses there are not to give it away; it may have become a lucky penny or destined for a function you'll never use it for. And there it will sit.

Blogging for me is like that coin. Being an extremely artistic person, who wears his heart on his sleeves made of open wounds and emotion, expressing myself comes very naturally to me, especially in the written form. I've always wanted to blog seriously - at one point I did to some small success, but they were from darker times in my life - but there has always been an excuse. I can feel the sting of needing to write down my thoughts, my fears, my words, but there has always been that fear factor residing in my mind, stopping me from doing anything more than a journal.

And then came along the Blog Roll. I watched it for several weeks, if not months - a group of friends blogging on topics and discussing their thoughts. My previous blog was anonymous. I enjoyed the free reign of being totally open with another being possibly sitting at their computer, reading and thinking about my troubles, knowing that someone out there heard my plea. Although a journal is great, there is something profound about blogging to an audience.

Over the years I've grown. Matured. I'm still in that process. It wasn't until just now that I decided to take the plunge and blog for real. No masks, just me and people who knew me. The risk is higher, but the reward too. I didn't come to the decision lightly. More than ever, I am aware that anything on the internet is public. Once it's out there, there's no taking it back. I'm at a point in my life where people know me. People from my career, my life, my friends. Not all people I expect to understand who I am or why I do. And there in lies the rub.

I, like most artists, work well when I'm emotionally attached to my work. Writing is just another form of that art. Writing relaxes me. Helps me work through my thoughts and understand myself better. It is an extremely personal and internal process. When you share yourself with another person, your emotions and fears and the reality of yourself, you are so very vulnerable. So you can imagine the surge of fear knowing that all this was being released like a torrent onto not anonymous readers, but possibly people I know. I nearly backed out of writing this. Like a coin I was attached to, I nearly shoved my hand back into my pocket and turned away. If I can't write from the heart, then it's not my writing; and yet that very passion is the thing which often gets me burnt. Not everyone sees the world with the same eyes - I'm not special in that regard - but in a way, it's time I liked it.

So here is the result. It may very well turn out that nothing more than bland posturing fills these pages, far from the suicidal and left wing ramblings you're probably expecting after reading all that (!), but at least I've taken the first step away from fear and towards a place where I am unabashed in expressing myself. The training wheels are off. If people do not like who I am, then they are not worth my time trying to convince them. I know who I am and am not ashamed. Expect to see my musings and thoughts on both the topics given by the Blog Roll, and on issues and events in my life. Maybe some of my work or anything I feel fits. However you won't see anything watered down. Edited and redacted in case someone I know might see it and disapprove. It wouldn't serve the purpose of my writing and I won't put you through that - I'd make for far too boring a read! People have always said one of my best traits is that I'm honest and they know where I stand. No masks, no lies. This blogger has seen far too many of those in his life and this is not a time to perpetuate them.

So let's go give that busker a coin. You don't need it any longer.