Do you ever wake up wanting to scream? Not a scream of terror, or pain, but one of beauty and thrill, angst and frustration, as if somehow, muddling through the muck of cyberspace is equivalent to traipsing through an enchanted land where everyone but you can hear the crickets?
That was a long sentence. Sorry. I have these new routines that simultaneously open my mind and crowd it. Sometimes, it’s wonderful. I’m meeting people all over the world who I really enjoy. Other times, the stream of people shouting “Buy me,” makes me want to go back to bed, pull the covers over my head, and hide.
I would like to buy it all, spend my days in leisure, and explore the countless offerings. Unfortunately, that’s impossible. On most days, I’m lucky if I find time to discern what I have to offer. I suppose that’s what this blog is about — sorting through the onslaught of information, ideas, and passion and sharing the convoluted life of an artist and author. Thanks for listening. You have no idea what it means that you comment and share my ramblings.
Over the last few months, Twitter has become my favorite platform. I used to love Facebook, but these days, it is often stale, dated, and choked with ads that have no relevance to me. Truth is, while I enjoy my interaction with friends and fans, I no longer trust Facebook. Having done the proper thing, and used the “promote this post” button a few times, I suspect the company is buying likes. When one of my promoted posts goes “viral” to 5,000 people, but the majority of those liking it are men aged 13 to 35 living in Muslim countries, I have to question Facebook’s legitimacy. As a woman author and artist, loudly proclaiming in favor of women’s rights, these likes don’t make sense.
OK, enough bitching about Facebook. Can you tell I’m a little scattered this morning? Up late last night working on the book cover and tired, I had intended this post to be about passion and originality, but it morphed into something else. Yes, in this enchanted world, things can go astray quickly.
The thing about the web is that it is so easy to con people. We all want to be heard, have our voices rise above the fray, and matter. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be here. I don’t listen any longer to those who shout the loudest, or to those so timid they hide behind an ongoing stream of motivational quotes. I avoid magic incantations, cackling voices promising surefire spells, and snake oil salesmen. They are anathema. Instead, I listen for the honest voice that questions, inspires, and shares.
The other day, a young woman on Twitter posted a simple statement. “I hate everything about my body,” she said. Saddened, I reached out and told her the hardest thing for a woman to do is ignore expectations, but when she does she will never question her beauty again. We are becoming friends.
When we stop trying to live up to what we are supposed to be, we become who we are. Then, our authentic voices matter and will be heard. The scream? I want to scream to cyberspace “Trust yourselves, be whole and human. Share your passion, joy, and despair. Show me who you are, not the persona you try to maintain, and I will love you for your honesty.”
As I imagine screaming this into the void, I suspect I am really screaming into a mirror, for I am just as likely to get lost as everyone else. Thanks for joining me on this journey. It matters. If you feel like it, follow me on Twitter. As always, I welcome your thoughts and comments.