"So I read what you wrote.”
I swivel my bar stool away from my date who I’d agreed to meet up with for a second time. I always get a little insecure when my blog is brought up in *real life.* As personal as they are, my posts feel much safer behind a screen compared to face to face at a Chicago sports bar with Justin Bieber “Mistletoe” playing in the background.
“And I have to say, I’m kind of scared.”
Yikes. I take an especially long sip of my vodka cran and am suddenly grateful for Justin filling the silence following the worst response I’ve gotten from both a reader and a date. Sensing my discomfort, he graciously continued. “No offense but I mean, have you ever thought about writing something a little more… lighthearted?”
Yikes, again. Out of pure instinct, I search for words to defend myself: I’m like, way better off than I was when I wrote my last post. I mean, it’s been a while since I wrote that. It wasn’t even about me really but more generally about adjusting to adulthood. But like, obviously I’m adjusted by now. I’m good.
To be honest, I’m not really sure he was convinced. But to be even more honest, now that I'm a few months past it, I don’t really care. Am I doing better than when I wrote my last post? Sure, I’ve become more acclimated to the city and adult life and not letting my laundry pile up to concerning heights. But that isn’t to say there aren’t new things I’m struggling with right now that I ever need to defend feeling or expressing.
Beyond the inevitable embarrassment I felt in the moment emerged a greater frustration that has fueled pretty much everything I’ve posted thus far: how is vulnerability continuously confused with fragility and weakness?
One of my favorite authors, Mark Manson, recommends choosing two or three core values to live by rather than attempting to reach a million frivolous goals. This makes navigating tough decisions and evaluating “success” a little more tangible in a world full of ambiguity.
A principle I’ve personally chosen to commit to is vulnerability. Now, working toward this is not always easy or intuitive or immediately gratifying (i.e. my cringey date). But vulnerability in others inspires me to mirror similar bravery and reminds me of the most comforting virtue there is: that we are never truly alone. Living as honestly, openly, and authentically as I can is pertinent to my discovery of value as a human being.
It’s the reason my favorite songs have lyrics I swear could have been written about my life, the reason the only books I care to read are memoirs entirely dedicated to telling someone’s own story, and the reason I voluntarily overshare on a public forum. It’s the reason I feel rewarded and the very same reason I get hurt.
As I continue getting to know myself, I always return to writing as what gives me purpose. Finishing a post and deciding to share it is scary, but it’s also invigorating and passionate in a way I haven’t been able to find in much else.
I would hate for my date to mistake this very post as yet another red flag that will preemptively sabotage my love life. Rather, I am taking his advice in writing something a little more lighthearted and celebratory, even.
A year ago I would have been devastated by such negative assumptions drawn from a project I am transparently still working on becoming confident in. But today, I am proud of the words I’ve written because they have not only allowed me to connect with so many people I wouldn’t have otherwise, but also because each post has brought me closer to becoming completely and authentically myself.
So this one’s for anyone working toward what they’re passionate about regardless of possible shame, judgement, or rejection. This one’s for me, who finally knows my own worth enough to value my tiny little blog over a third date.