Turning point
This blogging thing has been a part of my life since 2006. I started at a little typepad blog, writing about knitting.
It came at a time when my whole world was changing. We’d left Flagstaff, we were working out the future of our relationship. We lived separately for a couple of weeks while he finished his last college class and I started my new job. Weekends were spent with my driving up to our sleepy little mountain town, packing up the boxes of our apartment in the pines and getting ready to start our adult lives in this hot city.
I felt very alone in this apartment without him, our IM conversations a pixelated panorama of frustration, of anger, of pain. As long as my feet touch earth in this life I will forever remember something that he said:
When I need you the most, you aren’t here.
Sobering, hurtful, shocking. True. Absolutely true. Of the many mistakes I have made in life, this one has weighed the heaviest on my heart, because it is the one thing I have been party to that has been completely my fault. I had no excuse.
I turned to my little pink blog, with the cartoon butterflies and the rambling about socks and wrote. The heaviness of my heart could not have been more absent from that space. I bled craft and frivolous words. I bled happy. HAPPY! HAPPY! But, knowing that even a stranger happening by on those words…made me feel real. Somehow, there would be some tangible record of my existence. While I was away from my love, I sent tentacles out into the darkness. I hoped some kind soul would twine their fingers through mine, until I felt strong enough to stand and repair all of the things I’d done wrong.
One day, I wrote what was on my heart. The entire tone of this space changed. It has never reverted to the pink, fluffy craft blog. It became a lifeline. It became a necessity and an obsession and most importantly, it became a community. What it has never become, is comfortable. I have never laid down all of my swords and just let myself be open.
Which is not to say that I haven’t shared quite a bit. Quite a bit of personal, quite a bit of shocking, quite a bit of tragic. But, that precious balance that we all strive for, is always a shackle. There are stories that sit like smoke in my fingers. I cup my hands around them, knowing how I long to drag them into my lungs and blow them back out in smoke rings. I long to watch you all walk through the incense-like intensity of them and inhale them. All second hand and yet completely personal. But, as with all things, they are not just my story to tell. So, I tuck them away into my pouch, all marsupial. They make noise when I walk, like loose change in an old man’s pockets. You can hear me coming all the way down the hall.
click clack ching ching click clack ching ching
It is not a stealthy way to be.
So many real life eyes spy my words here. Most invited, some not. Some of you have gone from being words on a screen, to arms that have hugged me. Eyes that have seen me speak in the same room. Hands that have held mine, tears that have been shared. The responsibility grows. The wide brush I used to paint grows ever finer, controlling the artistry of my strokes into tight lines. There is so much that harnesses me, that isn’t just mine to share.
I’ve been not neglectful of this place lately, but tentative. I admit my own hypocrisy as I encourage everyone else.
Write what you want, when you want, how you want. Fuck us if we can’t take it.
Knowing, as I am firm that I will stand by people I have said that to, steadfast as a wall of brick….that the same does not apply to me, here. I consider that maybe I have put too much stock in this. Maybe I have put too much weight on it. Maybe I take myself too seriously.
Maybe, I don’t need to be here anymore. Maybe I was fooling myself, thinking I could write.
Maybe I do need to be here.
But my fingers stroke these quiet keys, in hopes of something new. In hopes of something more. In hopes of something. None of this can remain as it is, because I feel like I am supernova. Perhaps, if I am a dying star (in the celestial sense), maybe something new can be born of the black hole I am sure to leave in my wake.
November 8th, 2009 at 12:06 am
I feel, sometimes, like a failure, because when I read your words, all I can think to say is, “I love you,” or something quite like it. Rarely do I have anything profound to share, just a reminder that I think you’re wonderful.
But while that may make me feel a bit like a failure – for failing to come up with anything good to say – I think it says a lot about how amazing you are as a writer, that all I can ever think to do is tell you how much I adore you.
November 8th, 2009 at 12:25 am
The line about your secrets clanking around in your pockets like loose change is true poetry…
November 8th, 2009 at 4:26 am
You can write. That is not in question. Whether you do it here is yours to decide. Change is good and right and necessary. Whatever you do, make it all yours. Love you.
November 8th, 2009 at 4:58 am
yeah, I know.
November 8th, 2009 at 6:51 am
I think of them more as tendrils, instead of tentacles. Green and growing. Most plants die back or morph over time, as do we and what we write. The idea is still there, even if the flower is not.
One theory says that at the other end of a black hole is a white hole. Pass through the singularity at the core and you may come out in another universe, or a different part of this one.
Maybe this has been your singularity.
November 8th, 2009 at 7:40 am
It could be that the shackles have rusted and disintegrated enough that they really aren’t that binding anymore.
Regardless, I love you, your posts, your writing… I look forward to glimpses of your mind.
November 8th, 2009 at 7:45 am
Blogging is a strange kind of community, real and not, all at the same time. I feel the same way often, unsure if I want to continue but also in desperate need of a creative outlet and lonely too at times. Who am I kidding? Often lonely. Alone with my thoughts, tied to the house because of Katie I feel half alive, blogging gives me a connection to the outside world. I guess that’s what I would miss, the connections, tenuous as they are.
Do what’s best for you and maybe, hopefully, someday we’ll meet in real life. Take care sweetie.
November 8th, 2009 at 8:05 am
I’ve been a lurker for awhile. Your writing is incredible. Your honesty even moreso. I wish more bloggers were as real as you are in this space. I understand the need to back away from this once in awhile; however you’re reborn, it will be you and it will be good.
November 8th, 2009 at 8:25 am
C, this was so so so lovely. Like you in all your permutations. It’s the season again, of hanging up the blog. Don’t fall for it! Continue, please, to do this thing you do, when you feel like doing it. Please. Even if only for me.
November 8th, 2009 at 8:46 am
i understand completely. but selfishly i do hope you stay. xox
November 8th, 2009 at 8:48 am
What Gwen said.
My blog is much different now than it once was. It was my salvation for a while, I was drowning, having lost my life as I thought it was. I had had an identity, a job, a life, two healthy kids…then suddenly, it was just KayTar, sick and different KayTar. I didn’t know what to do with that, so I wrote. I needed it, desperately. Now, I don’t. My writing shows that change, but I can’t give it up yet…mostly because of the people it has brought into my life.
November 8th, 2009 at 8:58 am
I think this may sound trite, but I mean it in the most serious way: do what makes you happy. Your heart is the only guide you’ve got. Of course I love your blog and your words, but I would rather you be happy than blog out of a sense of obligation.
November 8th, 2009 at 10:28 am
You most certainly can write. Never doubt that.
November 8th, 2009 at 10:38 am
I understand. Either way, I do. And if you decide to go, I’ll miss you. If you don’t, I’ll clap my hands like a school girl when I see your updates in my reader (just as I always do).
If not, I’ll always remember you. Some people always leave an impression of themselves on our hearts when they leave. You are those people.
xox.
November 8th, 2009 at 11:38 am
You can write. You can write more beautifully and more heartbreakingly than anyone I’ve ever known or not known or wished I knew. And wherever and whenever you write you will do it with grace and dignity and awe inspiring skill.
I’m sorry I’ve been gone. If you stay, I’m back. Hell, if you don’t stay I’m back.
November 8th, 2009 at 12:21 pm
i’m with slouchy.
November 8th, 2009 at 12:23 pm
Oh Flutterr. I love your butterflies and your generosity of self.
You know, lately I can’t bring myself to write anything. I have things I want to write about but know I’m not allowed to share and then I cop out, I could tell those stories in different ways, I know how. But I don’t.
I won’t say the usual, ‘write when you want’ because I know I can’t say it to myself. Honestly? I hope you continue to write and continue to allow me to read.
November 8th, 2009 at 2:53 pm
… as a supernova, expand your distance and existence with light as your only measure. Allow no one or nothing to try to chart your progression or existence. No one can stop you. You are free and you are too far in the shy, for anyone from earth to be able to track and judge each movement you make to be you. In the sky, amoung the stars, there are no limits, no boundarys to swallow you up. And I have a sneaky suspicion you will never be alone, she will be watching and illuminating your way, as only your sweet moon can. She will never abandon you and nor will any one who cares for you.
You are Brave! A supernova is a begining; a beautiful, magical, bright, new birth; expansive scattering life freely creating itself in each moment. Supernovas are extrodinary and breathtakingly beautiful, just as you are. We have wathched you grow and open up, trust more, and be more vulnerable. You can keep going and expanding who you are and what you can be and are able to do, and you will be just as beautiful as all the bright life begining to flourish in a supernova. Embrace who you are and what is calling out to you, from inside yourself, and obey. Always be true to yourself, even at the scarriest of crossroads. It will be ok. You will be ok and come out the otherside. If your body and soul are pulling you to write then you need to write, as honestly as you can. Write for you, not for us, or for anyone else, just purely for you. Then later…much later if need be, you choose who you will trust and feel safe to read your most honest, deepest words. —sorry about spelling girl–take care of yourself-
November 8th, 2009 at 2:55 pm
oops sky not shy…sorry I should have read before I posted. love you-
November 8th, 2009 at 3:40 pm
Your capability as a writer should not be called into question, as for place in this world, that changes for all of us, and only you have the right to decide what calls next, or whether it is time rest, move forward, backtrack, or begin anew.
Wherever your calling, we are your community and we are here for you.
November 8th, 2009 at 4:07 pm
i want you here. i want you to stay here. i want to read your words an feel like we are true friends.
but this is my selfish heart talking. i know that you may need to fly away. you may need to be reborn elsewhere.
just don’t forget me. xoxoxo
November 8th, 2009 at 4:28 pm
Christine, I think the real issue is this: You definitely need to be writing. Maybe this isn’t it. I’m getting the sense that you are ready to move out of the self-revealing writing and now begin to share your wisdom – long-learned and hard-won. You are old enough and experienced enough to step into the Wisewoman role I know you can fill.
You know me by now. I’m not a sentimental person and I don’t wax poetic about how I feel about anyone. However, I’ll say this much. You have the vision. You have a very definite talent that goes beyond the ordinary. I hold the same opinion I did a few years ago. You need to write a book. No one who has a God-given talent like yours should ignore it.
Write here. That’s fine. I enjoy reading you and would miss it. In the end though, I hope you devote your considerable energy to a book.
~*
November 8th, 2009 at 5:16 pm
Deb said it so brilliantly that I don’t have much else to add.
I’ve always thought a blog is what you make it for whatever purpose you need. Just like the phases of those celestial stars, blogs move and change. As long as you are good with it, so are we.
November 8th, 2009 at 5:33 pm
Words fail me – I love reading you, knowing you, but I know that this may be and maybe should be evanescent. Do what you need, do what you will. But keep writing – because it heals you and helps us.
November 8th, 2009 at 5:33 pm
That was so, so powerful
November 8th, 2009 at 6:02 pm
You write of community. And I see it as I scroll through these comments, so many lives that have come into mine and I see them here as well. We are a community. And you are a part of it. We are one . . .
November 8th, 2009 at 9:50 pm
I’m not sure what to say except that I am here. Reading, enjoying your writing, feeling your stories, sharing your hurts and your joys, marvelling at your strength. And I am so very glad that I have I met you. I hope you keep blogging, but understand if it no longer works for you. Just keep writing, one way or another.
(And boy do I ever understand about not being able to share everything. Oh, for the freedom of anonymity!)
November 8th, 2009 at 10:06 pm
you can write, which is obvious to me here on this end. don’t let that doubt stop you. but if you need to stop, or at least stop for some part, some bit… you need to do what is right for you (I typed “write for you” first, which is an interesting typo…)
November 9th, 2009 at 1:24 am
What schmutzie said, with you are a writer, whether it’s here or not, doesn’t really matter, and an additional ‘love you’.
November 9th, 2009 at 4:22 am
you are amazing, amazing, amazing. Your writing touches a chord in each of us – and I am constantly in awe of it.
All great writers are FILLED with self-doubt. (Never question the ever brilliant Steve King…)
November 9th, 2009 at 8:15 am
Yes. Just ‘Yes’. Words filled with beauty, style and grace – powerful in their delivery and impact. I love to read what you write.
November 9th, 2009 at 8:35 am
My first reaction is NO!Don’t go! But if you need to fill in more time for you between posting, please do. I wish I could be as honest on my own blog. Too many relatives read it and I can’t bear to hurt anyone’s feelings. So I live through everyone else’s fearless vulnerabilities…..
But I loveth this here blog
)
November 9th, 2009 at 8:39 am
*hugs* friend.
Just *hugs*.
November 9th, 2009 at 11:47 am
Please don’t leave. I’m sorry, I don’t feel up to being unselfish today. I would miss you too much.
November 9th, 2009 at 2:47 pm
Like Maggie said, this is so powerful. That’s what your words do…the way you use them…they have power. I love coming over here and getting caught up in the power of your words.
November 9th, 2009 at 3:06 pm
I want to preface this by saying I’m so friggin’ behind, so I will be reading you backwards.
This post resonates with me. Strongly. You write of what I long to say. Sometimes I yearn, too, to put the stories on the page – but, they are not just mine to tell, either.
I do think you are an amazing writer, and that this blog (hopefully!) has provided an open page to write on and practice your craft. Because, honey, you got the craft. No doubt.
What I love about your writing is that it feels raw and open and vulnerable. And brave. Even if you think you are holding back at times, you read authentic. And you are.
Sending big hugs!
November 9th, 2009 at 5:07 pm
Eh, not bad.
Sorry, just had to say something amusing to cut the somber tone.
That was, well… f*ck… this post was something.
Do what you need to do.
November 10th, 2009 at 7:32 am
Why is this happening at the same time to so many? Something in the air? Don’t go. I’d miss you.
November 10th, 2009 at 12:02 pm
I hate the dishonesty that I create to protect myself–or rather the partial honesty, the parsing of truths. I hate feeling like I want to be more authentic than I am willing to actually be. It never feels safe enough or even possible through this medium– or even in my own living, breathing life. I get it. AND, the honesty you bring to this space is sustaining and beautiful. I would miss it.
November 10th, 2009 at 2:28 pm
Do what’s best for you. The rest isn’t important.
November 10th, 2009 at 3:04 pm
Even though what we have come to know of you through this blog has enriched us, it was always for you. I love to hear your voice, but will love you no matter if you need to sing a different song or just be silent awhile.
November 10th, 2009 at 3:57 pm
I think this is a post that is so honest, so true, that there is nothing else I can say about it. I understand about the eyes, and the tentacles, the shackles and the sharing. I hope you figure out whatever it is that you need to figure out, and that you know we are listening.
November 10th, 2009 at 4:38 pm
You weren’t fooling yourself, thinking you could write, I just think that the blog thing has a life span. I think it’s good practice, a chance to get positive feedback – but ultimately one has to write something ‘real’. Maybe it’s that time for you?
November 10th, 2009 at 8:00 pm
Maybe you don’t know this, or think about it, but you’ve changed the way people write on their blog. You give us all something to reach for, and I’m in awe of you, lovely friend.
November 10th, 2009 at 9:44 pm
One of life’s great truths is that time makes change inevitable. I’m noticing it myself, in the level of personal detail I share about my daughter as she grows and leaves my arms to become more her own person with her own stories. I think it is common once you have a readership of any level to start feeling stuck writing what you have been writing. Just remember, you already ditched the pink cartoony stuff for something that was a better fit, and so now maybe it’s time for another metamorphosis. xo
November 10th, 2009 at 10:54 pm
I have to argue that you do need this space, as I would feel bereft without it, without feeling that you’re out here, where I can read you.
But I take your point. Maybe blogging ultimately becomes an exercise in writing to a very broad audience beyond our control–kind of like people who write their autobiographies and then let their family members read it…and then things hit the fan. Personally, I have a great deal to write about my mom but don’t–because she reads my blog. I need to start a private blog called The Mom Blog, I guess.
I hope you stay. I hope you continue.
November 10th, 2009 at 11:18 pm
well, if i don’t get to read you here, i look forward to your book.
November 11th, 2009 at 2:06 am
ah sister, you can write. like smoke around the heart and butterflies gently resting on the soul.
i wonder where stars go to when they sleep?
November 11th, 2009 at 10:20 am
I understand this conflict, I struggle with it myself. You have to do what is best for you, but I would miss you and your beautiful words. The way you put words together is truly a work of art. Your words have enriched my life. I think your a beautiful person, inside and out.
P.S. Rosie O’Donnell said she is getting t-shirts made up that say, “What the fuck, fuck is rape, rape?” Thought you would appreciate that.
XXXXXXXXXX
November 11th, 2009 at 3:27 pm
I haven’t been around as long as some of your other readers, but your writing gift is never a question in my mind. I love to read your posts.
However, I understand needing a break, and have taken them from time to time myself. Do what feels right to you.
November 12th, 2009 at 5:38 am
It is in the air. Whisps our noses, it does. Are we wolves? We follow so readily. I left my window. I flail at my back door. These rooms we’ve made, they are harder to leave than I would have thought. It’s those damned tendrils! The feed out but they draw in, as well. If you leave I will miss you very much. It feels as though something that lives just outside of me has been cut. So it is with this blogging thing. It really is quite organic afterall.
If you leave, be well. If you stay, be well. Either way, write your ass off!
much love,
erin
November 12th, 2009 at 11:05 pm
I’m late here, but i wanted to say i understand. You’ll figure it out, and i’ll be here when you do, if you are here too.
November 13th, 2009 at 6:01 am
You are such a lovely writer.
I wish I could explain the feeling in my heart when I read your words.
Because this feeling doesn’t come with any other blogs like it does with yours.
November 13th, 2009 at 8:55 am
Your writing voice is lovely. You are a fabulous writer. I understand how you feel right now. Have been lingering in that for awhile too. As long as you keep writing, I’ll keep reading.
November 13th, 2009 at 10:18 am
stories that sit like smoke in my fingers
with words like these, you doubt you can write? I don’t get nearly as personal as you and I find myself constantly doubting, questioning, pulling back and pulling back some more. So it’s understood.
November 13th, 2009 at 3:31 pm
You are more powerful than you know my friend. You are courageous and brave and have touched so many of us. You write the things so many cannot. Don’t stop.
November 14th, 2009 at 4:17 pm
I think I’ve written many times before in this little white box about how amazing you are and what a terrific writer you are. Everything changes all the time. Ironically, that is the constant of life. I hope to read more of your words, but you always have to do the thing that is best for you. And maybe if this turning point leads you away from this space, another will bring you back. Whatever, I hope you take care, are happy, and do well.
November 14th, 2009 at 9:53 pm
I want you to be able to do what is the best for you no matter what that is. I wold like to let you know though, that I have missed your words terribly.
November 15th, 2009 at 7:45 am
Touching people is your supernova. While others, like myself, spin their humor and flash mirrors unreflective of their darker core, their suffering…you, with a single finger outstretched go gently tapping on our hearts. Lovely. I just feel selfish in receiving without offering.
November 16th, 2009 at 7:15 pm
I have always known you’d fly, I trust now you’ll come back, someway, somehow. Maybe not here. Love you.
November 17th, 2009 at 1:24 pm
I think I just read me…3 years from now…
I’ve been struggling with the whole blogging thing and I’ve only been at it for 10 months. I’m going to keep going…though sometimes I lose sight of why, exactly, I’m doing this…
November 17th, 2009 at 4:52 pm
If you hadn’t written, I’d not have known you.
I remind myself of that, when I’m thinking things like this–which I am often, of late.
Much love, love.