This quote appeared on my Pinterest feed a couple
of weeks ago and, like a chill breeze that steals in under the warped door
frame, it has descended down deep into my marrow. For you see, I have been
awash in brackish thoughts of late.
With a few exceptions, I have taken a step back
from my online presence the last six months. Five months ago, I gave birth to
my third son. Three months ago, my mother began another round of chemotherapy.
My withdrawal from the non-stop traffic of the internet was both a conscious
and inevitable choice. I do not regret my decision but I would be lying through
my teeth if I didn’t admit that, ever since, I have been at battle with doubt
and envy.
My biggest frustration with the world of writing
and platform building and influence is that what it requires seems so far
removed from a life that bears the fruit worth reading about—a life of depth
and stillness and meaning.
Writing, for me, has always felt like an intimate
dinner party, hemmed in by golden light and the clink of dishes, measured in
the crumbs stolen away on fingertips and the slow warmth from poured wine.
There are the moments of sure knowing just as there are the heavy silences that
come from the unknowing. But always, there is the table-- worn and steady, wide
and open.
But my attempts to translate that way of being to
the online world feel antiquated and stilted, at best.
It feels like sidling up to a busy counter with a
bustling lunch crowd. Bread is broken and laughter distilled, yes, but the din
of conversation is confusing to this ambivert who simultaneously wants to try
new dishes and run out the door, hands pressed over her ears.
I'm sharing my words over at sixinthesticks with the brave Nacole Simmons for
{The Conundrums of Christian Writing and Blogging: A Series}.
Join me and the discussion in the comments by following this
link.
Well done, Holly!
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