I seem to be starting each of my posts lately with a reference to the one that came before, but on this occasion I felt that I had to acknowledge (and say thank you for) the comments that were left following - yes, you guessed it - my last post. I appreciated the sentiments expressed very much.
I’m not sure whether that one post had any particular influence on my Mexican chick but whether it did or not she saw fit to ask me a question as part of a game of tag along the following lines (and I’m not being narcissistic in any way, just trying to adhere to the rules)… “You're also one of those bloggers who can string thoughts together in such a way that probes the deeper recesses of my mind. You make me think. Who or what inspires you to write like you do?” That’s some compliment – which I'll accept, even if I do so with a degree of embarrassment – and I think I’ll go back to the beginning in trying to formulate some kind of coherent response…
I think that I’ve hinted more than once before that I consider myself to have gone some way in terms of my… I don’t know. Let’s call it personal development. I certainly wasn’t always “the person that I am now” and some of that change has come about because I didn’t like what I saw back then. In fact, I’ll be more brutal with myself, and admit that I didn’t like some of what I did back then either. Can we all say that? Frankly, I don't know, and in any event I'm not sure that I want or need to benchmark myself in that way. But for me, it was true.
I guess, like for all of us, there were things about my childhood, my adolescence, my relationship with parents and other influential people in my life… I could go on, but what I’m saying is that there were things that played a part in shaping who it was that I was becoming. But somewhere along the way, I think that I realised (and accepted) that responsibility for who I was had to rest with me, and me alone; it wasn’t enough to be a passenger, and it wasn’t acceptable to try to reason away my behaviour when – deep down – I didn’t necessarily like that behaviour. I suspect that this thought process came to a head when I was in my late twenties and my first marriage ended, but the knowledge that in some way – in any way – I had to keep on looking at myself in the mirror (and questioning what I saw) continued as the paths I took in my life meandered in unexpected ways.
One of the things I strive for in trying to be the person that I want to be is honesty… in both thought and in expression of that thought - even if it hurts occasionally. Because, you know, it’s just as easy to be dishonest with ourselves as it is to be dishonest with other people. Perhaps I’m fortunate in being able to express myself in the way that I want to, at least most of the time, and that’s really all I try to do in this medium of ours. To express myself with as much honesty as possible.
Whether I succeed or not may just depend on how I feel about what I write. Or maybe its about how able I am to make some kind of connection with whoever chooses to read. Maybe its a combination of the two? And I’m not even sure if that answered the question, but I hope it was close enough as makes no difference! And apologies for making this a long and slightly rambling post... I wasn't going to, but it just happened that way (so shoot me...).