This post is originally from my old blog, Regular Lady. It was previously titled "A Stream of Consciousness (of sorts)" Good luck keeping up.
Anyone who has ever opened a new word document probably knows how daunting the sight of a blank page is (especially those of you in finals right about now. God bless). You stare at the big white open space with that tiny blinking cursor, just waiting for all your thoughts, feelings, and general know-how to come to fruition. Yes, daunting. Almost paralyzing. Actually, very paralyzing. I’ll finish it tomorrow; you tell yourself as you snuggle up under the warmest comforter known to God, man, and the whole gosh-darn universe. The second episode of 30 Rock begins to play even though you told yourself you’d only watch one episode. Even though you should probably start that project now. You click the x on the word doc and pretend you don’t feel that overwhelming pang of utter shameful (& somehow related to your Catholic upbringing) guilt.
I know the feeling all too well. Seeing that great big empty document brings me as much anxiety as it does excitement (well, depending on the project). Mostly what tends to paralyze me is the idea or, lack thereof. What do I write about? What do I say? What do I even have to say? Anything. Okay. I’ll say anything. I start writing an essay for the blog and midway through; I realize I’m doing what some people might consider “oversharing.”
Am I oversharing? Is this TMI? Does anyone need to know about my adolescent experiences as a Catholic school educated nerd-girl of sorts? I guess…. maybe not. Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Move on. Decide to write about some facet of something that somehow comes across as a somewhat overtly man-hating feminist.
But I’m not a man-hating feminist. I think to myself. A feminist? Yes. But I man-hating one? Never! I like balance and change and social justice and everything in-between. So what do I do? Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. What next? Facebook. Twitter. Compose the tweet to end all tweets. Wait for a notification. None come. Write an email. Text best friend about the moral standards that come with best friendships based on what I’ve seen from The Carrie Diaries. Call mom. Change song on Spotify because a girl can only listen to Lykke Li’s I Follow Rivers so many times. Facebook. Facebook. Youtube. Watch Jimmy Fallon interview Jennifer Lawrence and wish I could have an off-screen chat with Jimmy Fallon just to see if he giggles at all the stuff I say like he does with the people on his show. Fantasize about all the offbeat and colorful things I would say to charm the pants off Jennifer Lawrence if I were ever to meet her.
Check Twitter for notifications. Again, there are none. The struggle is, indeed, real. Facebook. Instagram and then Snapchat. Send a selfie to five friends with a caption about Sailor Moon, God, and the like. Come back to blinking cursor and endlessly white, wordless word document. Think of timeliness and now-ness. What the eff is popular these days? Katy Perry? Taylor Swift? Nicky Valdes?... Just kidding (although I should be popular in like a totally cerebral-only-tastemakers-know-about-me way. Where are you, tastemakers? Come find me!). Anyway, I write a post about Taylor Swift and Gone Girl on a whim, and I like it, so I hit the publish button. I put it on Facebook & then Twitter. I text my sister to see if she’s read it. She has. She likes it.
I get a positive response from friends and people who think Taylor, Gone Girl, and Amy Dunne is just as great as I think they are. And it’s awesome. It truly is. They’re all just validating my work, which, in turn, validates me because my work is just an extension of myself and HOW COOL IS THAT? I remind myself to stay thankful. I really do, but those insecurities always seem to bubble up from the deepest depths of I-don’t-even-know-where to remind me of all the endless sentences, thoughts, and feelings that people aren’t saying. Because, maybe I did over-share, or maybe I am a hypocrite. I mean, there was a time in my life where I told people that I wasn’t absolutely nuts-crazy about Taylor Swift. Or maybe the post somehow managed came across as man-hating feminist without me even noticing. Maybe people think all these things and secretly hate that I have a blog, or hate me for whatever reason. People (myself included) literally hate things and people FOR NO REASON. I once talked to a girl who told me she disliked The Hunger Games because Primrose’s cat didn’t look like how she had imagined it in the book. People babble just to make noise sometimes. That’s just how it is!
So I feel yucky. I feel yucky because of all the things that are left unsaid by those around me. I start to think of all the times that my true opinions slipped out during a moment that they shouldn’t have. True opinions based on beliefs that are based on inherent feelings about the universe, and society, and everything. That yucky feeling just gets yuckier as I think of all those times that I opened my mouth and MAYBE, maybe ruined someone’s good time. But then I realize how yucky I feel so I stop.
I think of myself at that moment. I think of my thoughts. I think about the way I was feeling. I think about the lull in the conversation and how no one agreed with me. I make a decision. I decide that it doesn’t matter what I did or said in the past to ruin everyone’s good time because it’s not like I was sitting there plotting, everyone is about to be miserable because I am about to drop all my thinking on them. My intentions were probably entirely pure.
My thoughts go back to my blog. I think about writing that post and how I felt at the moment. I had fun writing it and thinking about Taylor and Gone Girl in a way that was critical and relating to society. In fact, I was so immersed that I just happened to write it on a whim, and it wasn’t perfect but neither am I, and neither is anyone else. Not everything has to be cherries and diet cokes at all time, Nicky Valdes, I remind myself. I repeat it over and over again and then laugh at myself because I think I’m pretty great for coming up with the phrase “cherries and diet cokes.”
Basically, what I’m trying to say with this stream of consciousness (of sorts) is-well, my declaration (yes, another one!). I declare that I am absolutely and entirely 1000% done. I’m done trying to hide anything about me that I thought I should hide and then, in turn, feel insecure about not hiding it. From here on out, my singular plan is to stay true to myself. If staying true to myself means over-sharing my feelings, thoughts, and emotions, well then, TOO EFFING BAD, WORLD. I am a writer and a creative and an artist- and a hopefully offbeat, painfully quirky, awfully entertaining regular lady. My opinions are going to have to, at the very least, be said. Depends on everyone else if they want to hear them, and if they don’t want to hear them or don’t agree with them, then I’ll just have to take that as information and keep on doing me. That’s the best that I can do, and that’s the best that anyone else can do. Once I accept that, I can’t help but feel that life becomes nothing but cherries and diet cokes (After typing that, I did “gun fingers,” and winked while clicking my tongue at a friend who is sitting across from me. He didn’t even look up from his ever-engrossing book. I’m taking it as information and moving on, folks!).