My current motivation to write here is low. I’ve spent a lot more time lately on my anonymous instagram account, commenting on the posts about godly womanhood that trigger me, or interacting with strangers regarding whether or not Jesus really died for our sins. It is satisfying in some ways. I find out that I really am full of thoughts and even coherent words. The problem is they only seem to be able to come out that way when I have a person who I’m talking to directly. Even though I know pretty much everyone who reads this blog, I’ve never really mastered the art of writing for an audience.
When I was a kid I always dreamed of being in plays. I have an artistic side of me that craves an outlet. I also have somewhat of an exhibitionist streak that craves to be seen. One of my most frequent and repeated dreams as a child was to be standing naked in a store after purposely taking off all of my clothes. I don’t recall there being anything sexual about these dreams. It was just that as soon as I was conscious in my dream that I was dreaming, taking off my clothes was the first thing I wanted to do. If I woke up before I could get them off, I woke up disappointed, like I’d missed out on something.
I also used to pretend I was famous and doing interviews. I wanted to be an actress, and for my mom to take me to acting lessons. There was a fun and animated side to my personality that, in my opinion, never quite had a chance to shine. I had other siblings who outshined me in that regard, and it always felt like I was retreating back into the shadows when in the presence of others, both out of grace and consideration for them (or so I told myself) and also because there can only really be one star of the show. I never quite had enough confidence on my own to shine. I had to reflect something.
And I’ve always felt the compulsion to hide somewhere, and simultaneously, to show up somewhere, to see how long I can play the games of hide and seek with myself, to see how long I can go without saying a word, to come back and say something because I can’t bear the silence of being missing, of being gone, of being voiceless and lost and and non-existent and uninvolved anymore. The stars are too far away to be seen up close, and the planets maddingly walk their own path. One light rules the day and the lesser light was given to govern the night. I’ve always been more of a moon than a sun.