From time-to-time, I get emails from friends and readers asking for my advice or insight on a topic. Mostly, these have to do with delaying vaccinations, but sometimes the questions delve into much deeper, more profound areas of life. It never fails that I am completely and utterly humbled that anyone would ask me a question on anything.
(Probably those who live with me and know me the best are equally stupefied.)
A few weeks ago, my dear friend Laura was sharing with me something that she learned at a writing workshop on crafting the personal essay. She told me how the writer who was teaching this workshop really challenged them to dissect each sentence in a paragraph and dig out what the real truth was in each statement, separating it from that which might be . . . oh, I don't know . . . not so true.
Laura and I talked about how, as writers, we tend to be pretty adept at packaging the truth of our lives. We play a little fast-and-loose with some of the details of events, circumstances, and relationships - not to be intentionally dishonest, just as a device to make the piece work. We become masters of self-editing the story as it gets told and re-told.
That which I share here at SortaCrunchy is only just a sliver of the way real life plays out every day. And what I share here, well, a lot of it has been packaged. I try to be as transparent as possible, but life is too complex to translate into utter transparency all the time in a venue as limiting as blogging can be.
I've wondered if those who have only recently come across this blog have seen my "closed for comments during Lent" note and wondered if I think I'm some kind of special or possibly that I am a magnificent show-off. I assure you, this is hardly the case. I struggle with weakness daily - hourly! - and in an attempt to do better at "keeping it real," I thought I'd start a new sometimes series called The Confessional. Less packaging. More authentic.
For example, not many know this, but I have a wart. A real live honest-to-goodness awful ugly wart. Worse yet? I've had it for years. Years and years and years. At least since Kyle and I were newlyweds (nearing eleven years ago). It's not the first one I've ever had, but I find the wart removal process to be revolting and so I just haven't done anything about it. See it?
More confessions to come.
(Comments closed for Lent '09, but please know I don't think I am any kind of special)