I can’t do it.
I can’t just write without a plan, or a point. Not on a blog anyway.
A diary, a journal, perhaps. But a blog? A blog I have themed and branded and shared in tweets and google pluses and emails here and there? If you are reading this blog, have read my header, have read my profile, looked at the pictures, you probably know what you are expecting to see. If I just write, you might not get what you expected. You might not like it. I might let you down. You might no longer respect me in the morning.
So now, as I try to write free flow, I go into a most existential type of crisis. I’ve got so much freedom. Rather than being elated, it is frightening.
As I write this, the six year old is sat disconnected watching children’s TV. He is feeling down. First day back at school. First set of spellings in the book bag, to learn for the test on Friday. He tells me, tearfully,
“I can’t do it.”
His mother’s son? Maybe, although, where my freedom in this particular task is infinite, his is curtailed. The outcome is the same. Paralysis.
When he tries to do his spellings, and I try to write this, I wonder if the cause of the paralysis is similar: we are so desperate to please others, we struggle to do what deep down we know is right.
If we look inwards a little more to what we know and believe, and outwards a little less to what others expect of us, to trying to please them, I suspect we will be just fine.
Easier said than done.
In the meantime, I guess there is some bright side – I could be about to raise someone with a hell of an appetite for blogging, assuming, that is, we don’t worry too much about the spelling.
Why does my yr1 child have to do a spelling test each week? No idea.
Why am I writing this? Look here, a WordPress writing challenge on unblocking the mind. I guess you shouldn’t answer to the question I am desperate to ask: Did I do it right?