• For the same reason that wealth is more important to people who are accustomed to a certain lifestyle, reading is only fundamental to readers.
• Recently, I’ve been going through a writing slump, the words wouldn’t come. Today I think a leaf unlocked the door for the words to flow.
• A strong woman is kind of like a flower with thorns – you would think that the beauty and delicacy would be the most attractive thing, but once you get close, there is something addictive/therapeutic about running your fingers over the sharp points. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to know that they are there.

I’m gonna start giving ridiculous misinformation about myself and I’ll act confused if anyone questions me about it. I mean things that are obviously false. For example, if I have to turn a form in, I’ll check off “Pacific Islander” for my race or I’ll add a foot to my height.

As we get older, we get to know ourselves better and our self-acceptance improves. This is a constant process. When I am in the twilight of my life looking back on the good days and the bad days, I expect to still experience the disappointments and pleasures of self discovery on a regular basis. Some discoveries are small, some are large. Some are new and some are just shifts of perspective. Recently I made a discovery that was a simple shift of perspective but was still a relatively large discovery. I am my greatest competition. I set the bar for myself.

It hit me after I was free-styling at a cypher. Some days I feel on – the words just flow and take control. Other days I feel like I have to force them – I struggle to find topics and connect thoughts. This was one of those days. It was a constant battle, but I ended up saying some stuff that got me the usual signs of respect – nods, pounds, and compliments. As I was headed home, I realized that the pressure I felt to hold my own was a relatively new one. A year and a half ago when I first started to freestyle on a regular basis, I did not feel that pressure. Back then I was happy if I got through to a point that felt like a good ending without losing my flow in the process. Now I always walk in with a burden on my shoulders and it is not until I reach a certain level of quality that the burden is lifted.

The difference between now and then? I’ve already been given those signs of respect. Who likes to backtrack? Back when I first started, I was just trying to do my best. There was no standard of measure in place, so as long as I knew I tried, I was happy. I guess I could be satisfied with the level I’ve reached and fall back, but for some reason, that doesn’t feel honest to me. I feel I constantly need to re-earn the respect I initially got. Maybe it’s because I want to be respected in the moment. After I die, there will be plenty of time for the “he was”, past tense, static type of appreciation, but for now, I want everyone who appreciates my abilities to appreciate them for what they are in that moment.

This does not only hold true for free-styling or even just forms of artistic expression. Once I realized this about myself in regards to free-styling, I also realized that it is a pattern apparent throughout my life. I remember back in elementary and high school, I used to get frustrated because it seemed that after a short time, teachers would begin to expect more from me even if I hadn’t shown any signs (as far as I knew) that I was an above average performer. Who wants to be expected to do well in school? That means they grade you harder and give you tougher assignments when they can get away with it. That means when you slack off and miss homework or mess up on a quiz, people are disappointed. Still, I never dumbed things down. As much as I hated their expectations, I did nothing to lessen them. If anything, I did my best to keep those expectations alive. Why? Once again, who wants to backtrack?

I set the bar for myself, and when it comes to certain things, I set it pretty damn high. Sometimes it’s real hard to reach it again once its set, but I will reach it. I refuse to lose to that guy in the mirror – what does he have that I don’t? I can do anything he can do better! This feels like a valuable piece of knowledge. I’m not sure what I’ll do with it yet, but it seems like knowing it can only work to my benefit. Maybe this is a new method I can use to motivate myself. Who knows? I’ll have to think more about this, but that’s enough self-discovery for the moment.

I’m sitting here searching for words, but I’m not sure why. I feel like I should say something, but I’m not sure why. Its strange – I’ve always wanted to keep a journal, but I could never get writing to be a habit. Now, with this whole blog thing, I’ve actually made it a fairly regular habit. Yeah, I’ve been writing poetry and lyrics for years, even a story every now and then, but that’s a different kind of writing. I am and have been happy with that sort of writing, but I’ve also wanted to engage in writing non-fiction prose. Something that if collected could give a person a good picture of my life way after it is ended. Once again, I’m not sure why. Well, with this whole blog thing I’ve been doing, I’ve finally achieved that goal. I’ve been blogging fairly often, and while these passages won’t give anyone a close up view of my day to day life, they will eventually (hopefully) create a very detailed picture of my beliefs, ideals, and hopes.

Wow. Pause to consider what I just wrote…I think I just figured out why I blog. I have other reasons, but sitting here and writing with no particular aim, I came upon one that had yet to be uncovered. I guess I’m saying that my songs, poems, and stories aren’t enough. As I think about it, yes, I think I do believe that. Art is beautiful, inspirational, timeless, and limited. Limited. Prose is quite a different story. Here, I can give a big middle finger to aesthetics, subtlety and beauty. Sometimes the truth is ugly. Sometimes its not but I still don’t desire to tie it up in a pretty little poem. So, I guess this is my place for those words that don’t necessarily make it into a poem or story or song.

Yet…I find myself going to through the same problems with blogging that I go through with creative writing. Sometimes I just don’t have anything to say. Sometimes I do, but I just don’t feel like saying it. I haven’t written a blog since May 24. Sure, I’ve posted, but those were pictures. What happened to the words? I’ve had two false starts. One is still in the works but the other is now dated and therefore will never be posted. I haven’t written a song or poem in a minute either. Maybe two weeks ago I was inspired. A first line came to me and I immediately began writing. The next few lines came fine, but I reached a point where I knew the poem wasn’t done, but I was, at least for the moment.

Don’t worry. I know it sounds like a sob story, but I’m not complaining! I have been writing for long enough to know my ways. I go through phases. Sometimes a write a lot, sometimes I don’t writer at all. It comes and goes. I’m aware and comfortable with that. Don’t worry, no complaints. As a matter of fact, this is my rejoicing, my celebration. I am doing now what I have never been able to do. I am writing during my writer’s block. I feel like the stock market just crashed and I am realizing the value of diversifying investments. I can’t write, but I can write about that. Folks, I am defying logic by writing this, and it feels good.

Now look at that. I started this having no idea what I was writing about, and I ended with a whole post.