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Shetland Ponies and Contemplation

I’ve been doing a lot of contemplating lately – on varying subjects, and with varying intensity.  Situations have a lot to do with the way that I’ve been spending my time; I have little else to do, at least for a short while longer.  The time of contemplating and thinking is almost over…it’s going to cease and give way to doing.  A lot of the thinking has revolved around planning – planning for this, or planning for that, and always trying to determine the best (most efficient) way to go about accomplishing things or just simply…getting them done.

Some of the thinking has been over other things – things that I have no control over, things that have nothing to do with getting other things done.  Those subjects are more difficult for me to manage.

I posted an entry awhile back about getting into contact with one of my dearest friends, and the resulting feelings because of it.  It made me do a lot of contemplating over myself as a person – the ways that I had changed since turning into a hermit of sorts.  It’s kind of like…walking through a doorway, but different.  On one side, you were who you used to be.  And on the other?  Who you are today.

I felt like time almost stopped while I was sitting in my shed, writing my books.  I could feel it passing, I could feel myself aging.  I could feel my heart changing.  It just seemed to happen so quickly.  Years of time – years of my life – spent…thinking, typing, thinking.  Writing.

It’s so funny because yes, I have always been a thinker.  The funny thing is that I can remember being so selfish with my thoughts.  I’m not anymore.  I’m selfish with my time.  I have more important things that I should be doing.  I suppose that feeling purpose will do that to you.

Have I changed so much?

Is there any bit of that person left?

I don’t know.  Maybe somewhere.

It doesn’t matter…I’m simply asking.

I’m being so dramatic, I know.  I’m a writer; it’s what I do.  If you could see how so NOT-dramatic I am in person, you would laugh at me.  I wonder sometimes how I can actually make up stories, pull them out of my head piece by piece, and make them live.  I wonder that a lot of the time, actually.  I’m selling myself short.  I always sell myself short.  It’s what I do.

I like it that way.  I wouldn’t enjoy riding around on a high horse.  That’s a lot further to fall.  The realistic, sensible thing to do is to ride on a horse that’s fitting of your stature and capability.  I know who I am.  I know what I’m capable of.  Don’t I?

Maybe I’m wrong.

Maybe I’ve been wrong.

Again, I…don’t know.

This is why I prefer sitting in my shed in my solitude.  Interacting with people makes me think.

I don’t have time for this.  I don’t have time to constantly be rearranging my self-perception when I have so many other things to be doing.

Maybe I like riding around on my little Shetland pony.  Do I?  I believe so.

This probably sounds crazy, but I’m trying to work through it – write through it.

All of this – every bit of it – is stemming from the interactions that I’ve been having with people over the past several months.  I’ve been told a lot of…things.  A lot of words that I’m not accustomed to having associated with me have been lightly tossed into the general vicinity of my face.

Inspiring.  Are you serious?

People have said that my accomplishments thus far are ‘awesome‘ (the word is suitable enough).  Do you realize how many people have thought absolutely nothing of it?

Happy.  People tell me that I look happy.  Is it such a rarely appropriate word that it’s worth mentioning?  Is nobody else in this world happy?  I can remember a time where I never thought I would be.  I am, though.  I am so happy, and I’m so glad that it shows.

And then there was the word used during a conversation with an old friend yesterday.  Profound.  He told me that I was profound now.  What a word to be called!  This coming from someone who could remember me taking a sip of nail polish remover (likely in the fifth grade, when I was definitely old enough to know better).  I wouldn’t normally mention something so ridiculous; I’m just swallowing my pride for the sake of understanding. (A side-note: Please, for the love of all that is holy in this world, do NOT do that)…

I’m used to the high praise, in a sense.  My husband does it constantly.  He always tells me that I’m awesome, or amazing, or that one thing or another that I’ve done is just…the most AMAZING thing in the entire world.  I always tell myself that he’s completely biased, thus making his praising….tainted, I suppose.  My parents will always smile and go along with whatever decisions I make in life – often knowing I’m choosing wrong, mind you – so that I can learn my lesson.  They love me, and they always let me do what I believe will make me happy, thus tainting their opinions of me, and lessening the believability of their words (where they pertain to me).

But people that I don’t really know?  People that I haven’t spoken to in seven, or ten years?

I can’t make excuses to myself for the things that they’ve said to me.  I can’t shrug it off, or let it roll down my back without a second thought.  How could they be biased?

Profound.  If you could only hear me scoff at that word being associated with me.  And if you could only understand what all of those things mean to me.

He said something about words yesterday that really hit home.  Words are my life.  I am constantly struggling to get them out correctly, appropriately…perfectly.  And I am always failing.

Am I failing as badly as I believe I am?  Am I failing as badly as I tell myself I am?

Maybe…maybe I’m not.  To other people.

I need to feel like I fail with words.  That’s what keeps me struggling for improvement.

I suppose that I need to come to another understanding with myself.

I will stay on my humble little Shetland pony, but I need to come to terms with the fact that…my best might not ever be good enough for myself, but maybe…

Maybe it’s enough to suffice for everyone else.

I’m alright with that.

 

My god, I need to start writing another book soon.  This thinking about myself is driving me up a never-ending wall.

Basically, the entire purpose of this was to say that everything (like the things mentioned) has been extremely strange for me.  I’m not used to it.

But I need to say thank you to any and everyone who has shown even the vaguest interest in my work.  My work means the entire world to me.  I couldn’t possibly express my gratitude.  All that I can say is thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart.

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4 thoughts on “Shetland Ponies and Contemplation

  1. Yes. You are an inspiration to me. Here’s why: I’ve never met a writer who wasn’t full of himself on some kind of level. They usually think that they’re better than anyone else for one reason or another and they haven’t even written anything. You are pretty humble in my opinion. Plus, you and I share the same thoughts. When I read your blog sometimes I wonder if you’re reading my mind. You’ve reached the next level in your writing career, the level that I’m trying to get to and that’s so inspiring to me. The fact that you’re a real person, on this real journey, and I can see that we’re alike in some ways makes me want to be a better writer and be real to myself.

    • I probably spent way too much time today attempting to figure out the best way to respond to this. All that I ended up doing was go around in circles (it happens). So, firstly I want to thank you for your words. Thank you for taking the time to type them up for me. They meant a lot – more than I could think of to respond with (hence the over-thinking).

      I suppose it’s naive of me to believe that most writers are overly critical of themselves. I haven’t had any interactions (personally) with arrogant ones yet, but I’m not surprised that they’re out there. I’ve read some things about authors feeling ‘attacked’ rather than understanding that their work could USE work. We should all be open to improvement because we can always, ALWAYS improve. If we refuse to move a step or two away from what we know…what’s the point in doing it?
      I think the world could use a good dose of humility.

      I’m actually extremely glad to hear you say that. I always feel like I sound arrogant when I voice frustrations (which results in me not posting copious amounts of entries). So I’m glad to know I’m not perceived that way. Do you ever feel like that? Like everything you write will be taken out of context, misconstrued, and completely distorted from the original intent? Yet another reason why I prefer writing books.

      And that’s something I love about reading your blog. Seeing some of the same thoughts (which is amazing to me because I always feel so weird, haha), then the progress. It’s exciting for me, for you…Does that make sense? Just because I know how I felt about all of those things at the time I was experiencing them. I wish that I’d started one of these things a bit sooner. I could’ve dealt with a little genuine excitement at the time. I hope it’s encouraging. And I hope you don’t let this blog of yours sink into the oblivion of your others! I’m looking so forward to following this journey with you, every step of the way. I’m just hoping yours goes a BIT more smoothly than mine, hehe.

      (I’m not going to tell you how long I’ve been typing this up. And I STILL didn’t say things the way I wanted. My gosh, blogging can be so frustrating!)

      • I apologize for that! It was not my intention to have you work on the response to my comment for a long time hahaha, but I felt that you should know. Don’t feel naive, just feel lucky that you haven’t gotten to meet those people. Even though I probably shouldn’t, I always feel inadequate when I speak to them because they usually spout the premises of this or that great piece of literature and I can’t do the same.

        You definitely don’t sound arrogant. You sound like an author gaining ground and figuring out the road that you’re on. Sometimes I do feel that way, and it makes me not type certain things in my posts. Sometimes I do on accident and I’ll go back and read my post a week later and do a forehead-palm about it.

        It makes sense, definitely. It’s like hearing good news from someone and not being envious. When I hear of someone who’s like 15 or 16 with a published book that they wrote by themselves I do feel a pinch of envy, but it usually goes away pretty quickly. You can understand why that is, I hope. I think that those of us who understand the way the writing world works can appreciate the movement through the various processes and levels and, most of all, success of other writers.

      • No need to apologize! I have a tendency to do that quite often.

        I know which sort of people you’re talking about now. Don’t feel inferior. I’m a firm believer that life experience and understanding can make for just as good – if not better – writing than being well versed in all things LITERATURE. Reading the classics doesn’t necessarily make for amazing authors. I’m sure some people would disagree with me. They’re entitled to their opinions, just like I’m entitled to mine. In mine? You have absolutely no reason to feel inferior to anyone.

        Oh yes, I am an AVID *hand-face*er. I have a great many of those moments…mostly from speaking with people. Another reason why I enjoy being a hermit, haha.

        Yes, I understand about what you were saying. It’s not a feeling of envy for me, though. It’s a feeling of frustration. Mostly because I know how far I’ve advanced with my writing in the ten years separating me from that age. I’m not saying that children can’t write books, and that’s the thing. Anyone can do anything that they want. I just know that, when I was 15 or 16? My books would have been absolute [insert four letter word beginning with S here]. But yes, I do definitely understand what you were saying.

        That’s the saving grace of this whole blogging thing for me…The UNDERSTANDING I’ve found and experienced on here. And yes, the appreciation (in the regard you were speaking of) – especially from people who can relate. It’s quite wonderful.

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