There are people who boldly lay it all out in their blogs, telling the world the ins and outs of their relationships - turmoil and celebrations alike. I've heard enough horror stories that even writing this blog post tonight makes me a little queasy. Long-time readers will recall never having read anything in my blog about these topics... no fights, no trauma, no innocent rants. No heartbreak. None of the giddy stuff, either. Nope. Off limits. Period. All of it.
But sometimes what you're not saying when you sit down to write carries so much weight that you lose something. The writing becomes dull and meaningless. No soul. I want my blog to have soul. I want it to do a little more than entertain (me or you, depending on the day,) and keep you up to date with what I might find interesting on any given day. Sometimes I wish I were one of those bloggers. If I were, I would probably have way more arguments with loved ones, and maybe hurt of a different kind. But my blog would also have a certain layer of candor that might be refreshing. Authenticity. It's a word I keep thinking about tonight.
I think it's okay to tell you this about my private life: sometimes it would be really, really awesome to just get it right for once. I'll also tell you that even though years of experience and memories offer their solace when pulled out and dusted off to provide perspective (you know the type that invariably includes predictable phrases like "this too shall pass," and "well if that one didn't kill me, I know this one will be fine eventually,) those memories only go so far. Sometimes they're just annoying and get in the way of all that raw hurting. Which apparently is not something you can avoid.
It surprises me every time, no matter how much I think I've learned from each relationship. Surprises me that something that once made you wake up giggling for no reason, can turn on you. And come and sit on your chest and squeeze until it's the only thing in the world you can think about. This thing we're not talking about? It takes on a life of its own. And I, for one, will be one happy woman when I can remember it as a detail in my little old history rather than the ever-present ick that follows me from place to place, adding its heaviness to parties and celebrations and cuddles with tiny people who have always loved you unconditionally. Yes I most certainly will.