This is only a test.
I’m a writer — it’s what I do. The scope of my biological makeup was designed to put pen on paper. When I learned to type in 7th grade, I remember being so frustrated because I’d type thoughts in my head. Literally, I’d have a vision in my mind of tapping on a keyboard what I was thinking. It drove me bonkers, but accidentally gave me an exceptionally high words per minute score from getting so much intangible practice!
A few people have told me they enjoy my written word storytelling, so I share it in a technologically savvy forum for people to click on, at their own discretion.
I birthed this blog almost two years ago. And what I’ve come to realize over that time frame is people who choose to read it, especially my inner circle, find themselves much more intimately involved in the crevices of my life than they would normally be. We all have our silent thoughts, inner dialogue, or even have written journals, but most don’t have an open window of their life splattered across the world wide web.
In doing so, I have unintentionally caused myself to do a lot more damage control among friends. “Why did I find out about XYZ from your blog?” Or they’ll take the fact I mentioned someone else in a posting, and equate that I somehow care less about them because they weren’t a featured cast member in my electronic musings. Or abuse the “commenting” feature, mistaking me for a character in a still frame, computer-generated movie and not a real person behind the text.
All of these consequences are worth handling and sorting through, than dissolving my passion in public. In fact, I kept my account private for a long time, for that very reason…controlling which eyes were exposed to MaryB’s backstage. But in order to take my rants mainstream and become a published author/writer/blogger, I had to break the lock on my digital diary.
With this most recent Mr. Big development, I’ve received an outpouring of varying responses. Some are happy, some are intrigued, some are anxious, some are angry. I fully realize my support system has good intentions — first and foremost, to protect me. I recognize that my living, breathing bubble wrap that are my comrades and family members have been through the roller coaster ride from start to finish. The depth of their care for me is almost like taking on a voo doo doll role and literally experiencing my pain. My gratitude and love for these people go beyond words.
And yet, at the same time, get frustrated when people find a way to make it about them. I make a conscience effort every single day to not judge other people and to be the kind of friend I’d want to have. And that includes showing respect for personal growth, learning lessons, and believing wholeheartedly that everything happens for a reason…even though it sometimes comes at the expense of battle wounds. I would never, ever tell someone else how to live their life, who I believe should be their spouse based on my own opinion, and certainly wouldn’t make someone’s personal turmoil about me.
A friend told me that I make calculated decisions and am always thorough in taking time to weigh options and next steps. Today is no different.
For a job, I had to read the book Now, Discover Your Strengths. And according to the lengthy survey, my number 1 strength is strategy. “The strategic theme enables you to sort through the clutter and find the best route. It is not a skill that can be taught. It is a distinctive way of thinking, a special perspective on the world at large. You evaluate accurately potential obstacles.” And just like this situation, potentially giving the love of my life another admission ticket to my heart, I’m not taking it lightly. In addition to my analytical side, my intuition is used as an antenna.
This is my life, my decision. Wrong or right, it’s mine.
This is not a fairy tale. This is not a movie. This is only a test. A test that I have to get through along with the guidance and help of God who I trust implicitly.
