fear of the deep

I'm not a particularly still and deep person.

As a matter of fact, by personality alone (and the potency of said personality), I am frequently and prematurely labeled as ditzy, heedless, or perhaps a little flighty. I don't follow through with things like consistent blogging or always eating breakfast. And I get what they're saying. If you're having trouble identifying with me on this kind of thing, then please- try timing your own toast this morning, and you'll understand why these things can easily fall by the wayside. 6 minute toast? I think I'll let global warming cook it tomorrow.

I must admit that there's truth to it. I am some of those things- to a degree. I double book my social calendar on occasion. I have left my purse at any number of locations. I have purchased waaaay too many things on bad impulses. (My hair thanks me and my wallet curses me. What can I say? I lead a bittersweet life.)

However, these perceived flaws have some pretty ridiculously cool upsides. Where some are impulsive,  I'm also quick-witted and sly. Heedless? I'm sneaky and stubbornly optimistic. I have no trouble leading the brigade into a firefight and standing with them on that metaphoric battlefield. And you can bet your bottom dollar I know how to be there when it counts for my family and loved ones. (I'm also right about a lot of stuff- if you put that toast in your toaster as you began this post, settle in, because you're going to be waiting for a while. I'd let that butter soften up too, if you keep it in the fridge.)

But have you ever read those blogs that find their way around the internet, particularly the inspirational ones (be it religious or self-help or SAHM oriented) that pop up on your Facebook news feed? Those women are deep. I mean, deep. I know they talk about being these frazzled women who make fish sticks for their kids just like the rest of us, but come on! Blood does not flow through those veins. Nope, instead they are still, deep women with the softness of grace and wisdom in every muscle, pore, and expression.

the crystal-clear, glacially-fed waters at Newfound lake extend near 500 ft. in depth near the middle, and the 9-mile long lake is as smooth and still as glass in the early mornings. trust me, it's the closest thing to heaven on earth.

Everyone has those friends or reads those blogs that are essentially pure pools of profound wisdom. Personally, I think equating them to water is a near perfect metaphor, because somehow, hearing a person speak while knowing they are at total peace with who they are and willing to share their journey- that's a thirst-quenching experience for all who have the chance to hear. There is so much to be learned from the solidarity of experiencing life together.

Beautiful, right? 

Well, kinda. 

What about the rest of us? I think I outlined pretty clearly up top there how I am *not* still. I am *not* deep. Obviously I'm smart and have thoughts- I'm not doubting my own intelligence or anything. However, were I to blog like Ann Voskamp, Kara Tippetts, or people I know in person like Sydney Merino, or Julie Zine Coleman, I would have enough peaceful, still, and deep wisdom to share for, oh, about 2 entries. Then I would be WIPED.

Here's the thing. Writing is a healthy way to articulate and express the things our brains process. It's great for the introvert, because it forces them outside of themselves and it creates their own sounding board just by putting it out in some sort of cohesive form. It works wonders for the extrovert who needs to process out of the brain anyway, and it gives them a chance to put together their thoughts so that the world around them hears the filtered version. (You're welcome, world. How's that toast coming?)

The thing is, if you want to be heard, you need to make sure you have something to say. 

I think I'm afraid of what I have to say. I'm not controversial- on the contrary, it's part of my career to be exceptionally diplomatic. And I'm content with my current cleverness and skills in writing. 

I fear depth. 

I fear depth, not because I am afraid to show my depth, or become deep and find too much there, but because I'm afraid I will search into the depths, only to find nothing there but a void. My overseas work, my dealings in the darkness of mental illness- these seem to me to be flashy situations- a hand in the game that perhaps has already been played. I'm afraid to try and blog with any regularity or thematic purpose. I don't want to go diving into sweet Newfound lake, imagining that the gentle waves were calmed and that where it's 5 feet, I can just pretend that there's 500 feet. 

So, I'm going to make a deal with you, Mom. (I'm also making a deal with the other 8 people who will eventually read this. Thanks for reading. You win 6 bonus points.) I am going to write. I don't know if I can be deep or wise, and I doubt anyone will ever take a snippet from my post and quote it on their Facebook or Pinterest walls. And that's okay. I'm not a machiatto or flat white or mocha in the world of bloggers. I'm not even coffee. I'm generic hot cocoa with the mini marshmallows that melt before you take your first sip. (Unquotable, but deliciously worth it.)

I will write. I don't know how often or with what regularity. The past has made it clear that predicting the publication of my blog posts is downright laughable. 

I'm willing to see how deep it can get and how much I can share with you so we can learn and grow together, if you're willing to stick with me and give it a read every now and then when there's something to be said.

Also, it wouldn't hurt if you gave me a bite of your toast. Sorry it took so long to brown. On an unrelated note, what's your blackberry jam situation?