scary things (twos-12)

Do one thing that scares you every day. That's the saying. I'm not so sure we need to run towards our fears every day; also the point is not to just face your fear but to attain something valuable. However, two days ago I did something that scared me. 

I had read information about a writer's workshop run by Dr. Roxane Gay, Dr. Tressie McMillan Cottom, and Debbie Millman. I dismissed the idea. Then I reread the information. I fretted.  I reviewed the website a third time. I waffled. Finally, I mentioned it to the Saint, who with characteristic, endearing disregard for details or my doubts, said I should just do it. So I did. 

A year from now I will attend a 2-day writers workshop run by three women who are brilliant and successful. I have no real portfolio. I don't care if I'm published. I have no idea the caliber of writers attending the conference. I've never done anything like this in my life. But, evidently, I'm ready to jump in.

Which led me to think about this. Writing here. On the best of days, my readership consisted of 12 people. Partly because I have stopped writing for long periods of time, most don't even know it's being updated but even when I wrote regularly, I didn't tell many people. This is not false modesty or shyness. I simply don't feel the need to talk to that many people. Especially if it elicits the cesspool of commentary that follow online posts like parade horses trailing shit.

So why bother publishing things at all? That is the real question. Because it makes it real? Because putting it "out there in the world" somehow closes the circuit on standing up and speaking your truth. I am not 100% clear on this. I could just write all my thoughts and keep them on a folder on my desktop. But somehow, that feels like chickenshit. Maybe I just want to leave something behind. Even if only 12 people know about it.

I've always been an essay writer and I like reading essays. However, I love reading fiction but never really felt that I would be a good fiction writer. Maybe I felt too grounded in reality to let myself go. But I find myself toying with short story ideas for the first time. One is even rather sci-fi in nature which surprises the hell out of me. I have a novice writer's fear of writing a thinly-veiled autobiography. Something tells me that all of my initial fears will need to be jettisoned so I can jump in and make the big mistakes.

In a completely different (mildly) scary vein, I went to get my hearing tested. The Saint says sometimes I don't hear her, which of course I don't think is about my hearing, and goddammit if I don't have mild hearing loss. Cataracts, hearing loss, sleep apnea ... I'm sashaying into my 60s with panache. Anyway, the loss is too mild for hearing aids but it seems like that will be a thing at some point.

The oddest thing is that all these "signs of aging" coincide with a period of sparkly rejuvenation. I have not felt this young in years.

Rejuvenate (re•ju•ve•nate rĭ-joo͞′və-nāt″)
transitive verb To restore to youthful vigor or appearance; make young again.

I don't know why any of this surprises me. Life's always been about contrast and contradiction.