There is a gap between thinking something silently and making it verbal. Sometimes it surprises me that people who know me are not aware of what I have been ruminating about. My unuttered intentions and deep concerns should somehow be obvious to those around me.
I realise that a lot of my living goes on inside my head.
This does not make it less real.
For me, saying it out loud is actually a commitment. The existence of a plan or idea outside my head makes me fearful of failing in the endeavour. Best not to commit until I'm entirely sure. But when can I be entirely sure?
Writing these words feels like squeezing the last scraps of toothpaste out of the tube.
I am afraid that I am blogging, but don't really have anything to say. I am afraid that I am leading, but I'm not really sure where I'm going. I am afraid that I'm listening, but I've forgotten to take my fingers out of my ears. I am afraid that I'm loving but I've completely misunderstood how to do it. I am afraid that I'm living but all that I do will disappear in a puff of smoke. Insubstantial.
I am afraid that if I speak my deepest desires or my deep-core dreams, you will laugh. Or worse still, you won't notice.
So I deny this self obsession and I laugh to myself about white people problems. I'm caught in the paradox of desperately wanting to be understood but knowing my insignificance. I am deeply loved and I am ordinary. We struggle to believe that both can be true.