i lose my inspiration and abstract ways of writing when i have spent a lot of time producing material for the real world. the professional me, the organized me, the rational and the fact based me pushes the artistic me aside. my words are researched. laid out in a series of choreographed paragraphs which leave no room for interpretation. fact in point yet presented with absolute and passionate positioning.
there is no room for whimsical writing in the real world, when what i write is used as the backboard of an argument. the presentation of cumulative facts to support a cause is not something i embellish with frivolity. i play hardball and expect as close to perfection with what i present, as i possibly can. not for any other reason that i believe that when educated people compile factual information, it serves to educate those misinformed or unused to research.
here, in my world of what ifs and no accountability, i can meander through my mind and allow its haphazard journey to take me where it will. as comforting as it is, there is also a measure of hidden danger as i resolve to hide in shadows, keeping apart from myself. here i can simply be no more than i am or want to be, while not allowing the pressure from expectations to alter my method of writing and delivery of ideas.
i want to come back. i need to come back to this side of me, more often, instead of hiding inside my real life. the real life i’ve manufactured to conform to the ways the world wishes to see me and away from the expectations of how people see me in person. i have often wondered if i am a coward; too shy to stand in the spotlight of attention, instead finding a measure of solace in the attention simple words bring me and no one else is aware of.
i wonder where it begins; the need of people to gain recognition for trying to achieve self awareness and fulfillment and i wonder why others retreat from it even when it’s unsought. family structure, birth order, societal roles and responsibilities all play their part, i am sure. some people need the attention while other shun it, content to live in anonymity and without responsibility to those who attach themselves to others.
i miss writing for my internal audience. i miss escaping into my mind and allowing myself the freedom of free form writing. i haven’t had time to turn off my linear mind to let the other side out. i am suppressed and restrained which makes it harder to step outside the boundaries we create for ourselves. i have been corseted too long and seek the bra-less freedom that nudity of spirit can bring me. It’s time to push boundaries and experiences.