Right before heading out to sea I had a super strange, turn-me-on-my-head experience. We were in Florida, out to dinner with relatives we hadn't seen in some time. I was shocked, truly shocked to find that not only do they read what I write, but that they're interested and empathetic. As if that wasn't enough, they think I'm a terrific writer.
I was speechless. Touched. Through my writing they've gotten to know me in a way that never seemed possible in the real world.
What's even more fascinating is that other people in my life have taken the same thing, my writing, and judged me as a loser, a time waster, a narcissist for thinking anyone might possibly have interest in what have to say.
Someone to admire. Someone to admonish. Someone to be proud of. Someone to look down on. Opposite ends of the spectrum points of view based on exactly the same thing.
The thing is, I'm being myself. As much as one can be in a sterile, faceless environment. I write my truth, or, more likely, I figure out my truth by writing. This has been my therapy, my solace, my place to explore and find comfort. And often, a way to vent when I need to be have no other place or time.
That people share this journey with me is gratifying. Strange. Different. I'm always a bit taken aback when someone knows details of my life I know we never discussed. But I'm also honored that they took the time.
The world and how we share is changing. I'm figuring it out as I go along. For those who need to judge, what can I say. For those who've changed how they think about me, wow. For those who share, thank you.