“There is such a thing as looking through a person’s eyes into the heart, and learning more of the height, and breadth, and depth of another’s soul in one hour than it might take you in a lifetime to discover, if he or she were not disposed to reveal it, or if you had not the sense to understand it.”
– Anne Brontë, from The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
Hello, my friend.
It’s been a while.
Seven weeks, to be precise.
This little world into which I pour my sarcasm, silliness, moments of angst, and pangs of nostalgia, woven through chocolatey decadence and cheesy lavishness, has laid silent and seemingly forgotten for seven weeks.
Notice I said seemingly forgotten. Never truly forgotten.
Moment of openness.
The very aspect of this blog that drove me to transient silence is now the aspect that fiercely draws me back.
From the beginning of this entr’acte, it was never intended to be permanent. The momentary intermission was always going to be just that – momentary. However, I didn’t expect the passion of creating in this little world to so determinedly pull me back. That the grip that it holds on the core of my being would employ its strength to cause such an emotional ache at its lack.
And yet, here we are.
Returned once again, as was always the plan, but not by a sense of obligation.
By pure longing.
There is so much more to the creative aspect of this blog than I ever imagined coming into it.
Play with recipes, describe food mingled with a little silliness, type said recipe, hit Publish, right?
Nearly at the dawn of this process, I was struck with the fact that the white and empty screen with nothing more than a blinking cursor was, truly, a blank canvas. Yes, I had recipes to share, but the words? They were absolutely anything that I wanted them to be.
No lines drawn. No parameters within which to remain. Absolutely nothing to curb any and all words that could flow from within my being. The thoughts, the emotions, the passions that relentlessly bound within me – they all had somewhere to spill. An outlet from which they could all stream together into a roaring current made up everything – the light, the shadows, the glimmers, the silhouettes.
This realization, however, wasn’t a moment of inspiration. It followed every post as a constant taunt.
Jeering in my mind, every time I began to write.
“You realize this sounds sickeningly mawkish, right? Idiotic, in fact – a fantastic way to make yourself completely ridiculous.”
The emotion didn’t always lose – it managed to fight its way through a few times.
The vast majority of the time, however, it shriveled. The overwhelmingly frequent result of this struggle against the inner taunting was scrapping the whole post, heading to my piano for a bit to clear my head, and coming back to scribble something silly, dotted here and there with sarcasm. Something safe to send out into the universe for anyone to read.
Fighting against this same struggle, time and time again, started to become exhausting.
“What is my style of writing?? Am I silly and shallow, or deep with emotion laid bare?”
Not that I desired every post to be an emotional experience – I am an incredibly happy person, and sometimes I am truly in a light and fluffy mood. But I couldn’t stand writing every single post that way.
Because I’m both.
At once light and shadow, shallow silliness and depth of emotion.