You may have noticed this place got a little ~makeover~ since the last publication.
You may also remember this makeover. Or even this one if you’re a real OG reader.
I stress and I stress over the container that holds my words, delivers my writings, houses my stories. I want it to be reflective of what’s inside the container, but I also want it to be aesthetically pleasing, easy to say and reference, catchy, enticing, unique…
It’s a lot.
You know how it feels like you’re picking the nail color you’re going to die with when you get a manicure? (Maybe you don’t so just trust me that that is how it feels.) Picking a name for this container— a color palette, a signature mark, a vibe, a mood— it feels like I have to go to my grave with this thing!
Which is one reason why, despite feeling for quite some time like the container that was Outside The Lines didn’t quite fit, I drug my feet on crafting a new one.
→ (Other reasons include: waiting patiently for inspiration to arrive ((the feeling has to be there, obviously)), fear, and arbitrary dates that seem significant but really aren’t for making big changes like this.)
So here we are, finally, arbitrary date and all: a new container, maybe even a new voice.
New urge to dig a little deeper. New shift in the winds that blow me and my creativity around. New courage. New sense of responsibility to myself and to you.
My public writing started as a copycat of other things I read and liked. Afraid of finding (mostly of sharing, rather) my own voice, I tried to borrow others’. I dipped my toe in the shallow end of authenticity a couple times but clung to the side of the pool, fully clad in floaties and other unnecessary protection devices, hoping I could reap the rewards of fully living without getting wet.
Wouldn’t it be nice?
I would write from the surface, sometimes even the shore itself, excusing myself with stories about audience and etiquette. I so craved the feeling of swimming but so feared the possibility of getting water in my eyes or being seen whilst treading water.
But then I ran out of things to say.
Or so I thought.
I ran out of things other people were saying. I ran out of mimicry. I ran out of all the energy it takes to maintain an appearance not one’s own.
And I sat at a blank screen time and time again, willing myself to write, things inside of me screaming, yet thinking I don’t know what to say.
I thought back to advice I’d given others in times of struggle, advice I’d now have to practice myself. Ew.
If you don’t know what to say, just say what’s true.
And it turns out, that’s what I want to write about most anyway: what’s true. Not only because it feels the best (it really, really does though. You should try it.) but also because I have seen time and time again in my life the that way honesty, vulnerability, and simply saying what’s true drastically changes situations and ripples outward into more honesty, vulnerability, and truth-speaking.
And so that is what I will do: I will write what’s true.
And that is what I will call it: what’s true. And if the winds blow me elsewhere, so be it. If this changes a hundred more times before I go to my grave, so be it.
For now, today, this is what’s true.