Pabulum

I want him to absolutely love it.  I want him to hang on every word. I want him to subscribe immediately, so he can gush over each new piece before throwing off the blankets in the morning.  I want him to love my blog for no other reason than because it’s mine.

He reads a few posts, at first, when I send fresh links via text message.  I’m bewildered when his response is expressed in wishes that he could write this well; surprise that I write this well.  He doesn’t go looking for more. 

I should shrug it off, but his lack of interest gnaws at me.  Combing through our conversations, I surmise he finds my messages too cryptic, is frustrated seeking specific meaning to decode.  Maybe if I spell everything out he’ll be compelled to read?  I consider dumbing down my writing, in an attempt to grab his attention.

And then I stop myself. What am I thinking?  Words are ubiquitous, ours for the taking.  I make them my own by coining sentences in a style no other can replicate, blooming into stories that unfold as only my mind can tell them. Sometimes I can actually feel the prose billow and bleed. This blog is me.  To make it anything less is to cloak the gifts I am given; to be untrue to who I am.

 

Is he caught up in looking for hidden agendas, double entendres or innuendo in my musings because he’s afraid of his own thoughts?  Well, my posts are meant to provoke thought.  We’re all kindred; I take you to your scary places, those ambiguous, raw and fearsome spaces, by showing you mine because we have to invest a little time in the dark before we can begin to see the light.  You might not like it.  But the beauty is there is no right answer, only perspective.  I’m here purely to compel you to look.  And once you look, to inspire you to act. 

Someone recently told me that I cause others to slow down and pause, to look at things differently. Struggling in my job, I’m now thinking about how to apply this towering strength to get around the fear I’ve placed squarely in my path.  I don’t “tell”, I “suggest”.  Years of arguing my case to an individual incapable of comprehending my logic, accepting my counsel, acquiescing to our truth have honed me into a strident barrister. There is immense power in taking observations to assessments, and assessments to recommendations.  Have I just awakened to find myself in the perfect training ground to become the consultant I aspire to be?

When we dumb it down, we kill original thinking.  No one says it better than Seth Godin, in his blog post "I don't get it."  When we avoid diving deep, tackling a subject that may be hard to express or understand we limit ourselves.  And when we limit ourselves, we limit those around us, too.  Those individuals relying on our unique abilities and contributions to the team at the office, our children who can’t become who they’re meant to be absent of our values and beliefs, that perfect match who doesn’t have a prayer of finding us unless he can see what it is we’re seeking.

It’s always easier to hold back.  Will we get more followers, be better liked if we keep it simple and bland, never asking the hard questions?  Maybe.  But is it worth losing who we are to gain the favor of the masses, or are we happier when we realize that those who naturally gravitate to our real selves are the vital few that truly matter? 

He abandons the reading because he doesn’t see himself clearly in my writing.  Could it be he’s just not yet brave enough to really look?