billfriday.com

fictionary… 8 megapixel artist… bloody awful poet.

Archive for the tag “walls”

Compartmentalized

compartmentalize

 

I’m really not who you think I am.

I give points to those, in my past, who guess bits and pieces of me correctly.  You’ve all tried so hard to be right that it doesn’t seem fair not to reward that effort with a bonus peek behind the curtain, as an “atta boy” for playing the game.

And it’s not that I purposely deceived you about who I am.  I haven’t.  It’s just that, after so many years of living my life, day to day, I really don’t think about sharing every detail of it with you.  Not because I’m keeping things from you, but because, after living it all the first time, I just don’t think of it as interesting. 

It wasn’t interesting to me.

Or to anyone else who lived it with me.

Because I’ve lived every day up till now, all those days before you had any thoughts of me, as days of necessity, not serendipity.  My nose grew more comfortable with the grindstone than it ever was with the stars.  And my existence has, for the most part, been for others who depended on me, and not my own amusement.  At this point, I don’t have a frivolous bone in my body.

Or they’ve all been broken.

Therefore, no matter what you may think you know about me, what you really know about me is what you and I discover, together.  I’ve kept my life compartmentalized, mostly for my own safety.  At least that’s what I kept telling myself, over and over, since the day my heart began to crumble.  First, I built a wall.  Then another, then two more, and before I knew what I was doing, I had built so many rooms inside me that I had one for every thought.  One for every feeling.  Safe and unsafe.  For sharing or hiding.  Each one a closed space, until I decide that you are safe to me.  But no one gets a key to the whole place.  Not unless we go there together. 

Only if you are safe.

Are you safe? 

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Advertisements

Stuff and Things

stuff and things xI’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,

“I am NOT a blogger.”

I know that’s confusing, for bloggers and non-bloggers alike, because… BLOG.  THIS BLOG.  THIS BLOG you are reading.  Right NOW.

So, for those who don’t know me well…and that would be most of you… here’s how I have navigated the phrase, “I am not a blogger”.

I am a writer.  First and foremost, beyond all other labels, I am and will always be, a writer.  Not a blogger.  Not a poet.  Not an author.  A writer.  Even though I maintain a blog, and I have a whole book of published poetry.  So what, for me, started out as a blog, then became a place to post what I’ll call, for lack of a better term “content”… like a podcast which ran its course in just 13 weeks, uncategorized things I had written in the past for two websites I was no longer current with, and finally, poetry… it all seemed out of place for the form known as blogging, or at least what I had come to know as “blogging” from a few of my fellow bloggers, most of whom I barely read.

Until this year.

This year, everything I knew changed.  All the stuff and all the things.  About life.  About writing.  About blogging.

I went from writer to author, seemingly overnight.  With the unforeseen help and tireless teaching, editing, and emotional hand-holding of a friend and genuine blogger, I finished and published my first book.  Then, over the remainder of the summer, without warning, I saw what blogging really could be.  Not for expanding my contacts list.  Not for sales and marketing.  Not even for the joy of having others read my words.

But for experiencing life through others, beyond my writer’s walls.

And, with this actual BLOG post, I’m ready to call myself a BLOGGER.  Finally.  Once and for all.  Without fanfare.  Just acceptance that what I’ve been told is true, and there’s an entire world of writers and authors, bloggers and humans, out there.  Beyond my walls.  Beyond their own walls.  Ready to say hello.

So, without knowing what I’m doing, today I am Bill Friday, blogger.  With no agenda, no axe to grind, and no idea what I’m doing.  All I’ve got is a title.  These posts, mixed in with the poems and podcasts, will be known as “Stuff and Things”.  Because, as my friend and genuine blogger has told me on more than one occasion, that’s all a blog, and life, is really about…

The stuff, and things.

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: