So…. I hit a milestone of sorts yesterday. Someone who reads this blog commented on my editing. Seems I’ve missed putting out the absolute cleanest in sentence structure and she enjoys proofreading what I write.
I’m trying to get over this, but I admit it’s hard. I also know that she’s going to read this (I really didn’t know before even though you thought I did), but I can’t help that. It’s what’s on my mind and that’s what this is about.
Why is it hard? Isn’t this a big, silly fuss over something so insignificant? I’m perfectly aware that I’m not the cleanest writer or editor in the world. That’s not it. It’s that this blog is a journey that’s hard to make at times and it takes a bit of fortitude to do it. The comments have been so supportive and I’d figured, if someone didn’t like what they read, they’d kept it to themselves. So, this first criticism directed at me, caught me off. It’s like flaying myself open and having someone comment about the color of the blade I use. (Okay, I also cop to being a total drama queen with that one but the analogy was too sweet to pass up.)
Here goes… It’s okay.
Several years ago, someone asked me, on behalf of someone else, why I was delving into my psyche to try to recover lost gaps of time. I was working on filling in the blanks. She wondered why I couldn’t just leave it alone and move on with my life. Good question. It took me a little while to answer, but I can now.
As I go through life, I encounter those points when I look at myself in utter bewilderment and ask, “Why in the world would I do / feel like / act like that? I hate that!” There came a point when the answer, “I don’t know” was not enough. The only answer I could accept of myself became, “I don’t know, but I’m going to figure it out because I don’t like it and don’t want to keep doing it.” See, there was no moving on. There was only a continual vicious circle of self-destructive behaviour looping back on itself and I was done, done, done.
It’s hard work, but I’m happier.
This chain of consciousness blog isn’t supposed to serve any purpose other than just that — processing my chain of consciousness. I’m not trying to get people to like me. Hey, don’t get me wrong. I like when people like me, but that’s not why I’m writing.
I’ve gotten glimmers of this tipping point before now. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t really know who reads this but encounters out in the world have given me clues. I’ll see someone at a play or something and they’ll make an inside comment that can only be based on something they read here. That’s super cool. I appreciate the comments. Thanks. You’ve been really nice about it.
This is the first criticism I’ve gotten. That’s cool, too. It was also inevitable. Which brings me back to the original point of this post…
Am I going to grow a thicker skin as a result? Probably not. I would have done that a long time ago if I could.
Am I going to retreat? No. Even though, that is my habitual first line of defense.
Am I going to find humor in the situation? Yeah. But, it took writing this post this morning to find it.
Am I going to get over it? Oh yeah. Probably. Maybe. Maybe with a dash of brooding.
Am I going to invite more criticism? Not actively, I confess. I’m not that brave. Yet. But, it will happen.
And, that’s okay.
Significantly,
Susan Scot Fry
Update…
I received an un-birthday card in the mail yesterday. It said, “May your eyes continue to see beautiful and significant things, and your soul dance to good music.” On the inside, it said, “Keep your eyes open and your spirit dancing!”
Wow. Thank you.
Let’s go.
A Year of Significance 
I love criticism. It tells a lot about the person giving it. (Whether they’re jealous, tactful, sensitive about something…)
Of course, I like the helpful criticism the most. The stuff I can actually incorporate. The other stuff given out of jealousy or pettiness takes a while to wear off…that sort of sucks.
However, I see it as you touched on something within your critic. You sparked them to take the time to say something. That’s actually a compliment! (And if it’s not, shh, don’t tell me. It’s what I use as my criticism coping method! 😉
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Hey, that’s something I hadn’t thought of. Take it as a compliment. I love that advice, Court.
You’re the best.
Thanks.
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Ok, I don’t give a rat’s ass about clean sentence structure. I don’t mean this to offend the person who does, their comments are just as valid, but our hearts don’t speak in clean sentence structure.
“Recovering lost gaps of time”…I so like that. How is it that we lived parts of our lives with no memory of being there?
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Hey Deb!
Rat’s ass. That’s always been one of my favorite expressions. Turdsicles is a new favorite word, but that’s a whole ‘nother story. (Imagine a dog in winter…)
Lost gaps of time? Yeah. Funny that. I swear, I must have been there…
Now I know that I chose to forget when I was little. I understand that it’s a pretty common coping mechanism.
Thanks, Deb.
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Blogging is not for “clean” writing. Neither is social networking. Sites like facebook and tribe are for brain dumping and fun, light interaction. Blogging is for exactly what you’re talking about – a stream of observations and thoughts, a way of accounting for your daily life.
If you decide to write a book based on your experiences in your Year of Significance, you can get a professional editor and have “clean” writing in said book.
Blog on!
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Thank you, Myra! I really appreciate the perspective.
I do actually read through it a couple times before hitting the ‘publish’ button, but not with the fine tooth comb that a real editor would use.
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Have you ever seen or heard about a show called “Ruby” on the Style Network?
http://www.mystyle.com/mystyle/shows/ruby/index.jsp
It’s about a morbidly obese woman’s weight loss journey. Apparently, she cannot remember anything in her life before the age of 13 (I think that’s the age, anyway). I caught a recent episode where she took a trip to her hometown in Mississippi to try to trigger memories, and she still couldn’t remember anything. So she hired a private investigator. I guess they’ll keep exploring that theme as the show goes on. But it shows that it’s not uncommon to lose parts of your life. My earliest memory is from when I was two, when I fell in a lake by my uncle’s cabin (my dad was right there and pulled me out immediately, but it was still traumatic, so I remember that). But other than that, my memories start at about the age of four. It would be interesting to know how far back people’s earliest memories start. Good luck with your journey, Susan, and thanks for sharing.
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I’ve seen a minute or two of the show as I’ve channel surfed.
I hope she gets her memories back, but honestly I’m hugely against forcing it. Okay, that’s not entirely true. There comes a point when you need to dig, but if you aren’t ready to process what you remember, no amount of digging will do any good.
It was the weirdest, most visceral sensation in the world when I turned the corner and the memories started coming back. At THE most inconvenient times. In the MOST spectacular ways.
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Oh, and Michelle! Thank you for the good wishes. And for the comments.
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