When I was about eight years old, my wealthy older cousin sent me some of her hand-me-down clothing. I was at my grandmother's house when the boxes arrived, several of them, full of the fashionable oranges and browns, corduroy and polyester, bellbottoms and wide collars of the 70's. I was thrilled by all these "new" clothes; I felt like a rock star. I put them on and grabbed a hairbrush and started singing Monkees songs in the living room in front of the fake fireplace with the plug-in plastic log. And I had a great idea: I would put on a concert! I'd dazzle the crowd with my cool new rocker wardrobe, and I'd round out my Monkees-heavy repertoire with the smattering of Rod Stewart, Sonny and Cher, Tony Orlando and Dawn, and Captain and Tennille songs I knew. Perfect!
I asked my mom to invite all the relatives, which for some reason, she refused to do. I should have known I was in trouble then, and maybe that's why she made me phone them. Maybe she thought that if ultra-shy me could actually pick up the phone and say I was giving a concert, I would actually have the guts to give one. She made me call each and every one of my elderly aunts and uncles and personally invite them to the concert. And because they were retired and indulgent, they all came over right away.
They seated themselves on the slipcovered furniture, facing the faux fireplace with its faux log that was to be my stage. I stood in the hallway, looking out at my audience and I completely panicked. I couldn't sing in front of a room full of people for goodness sake! What had I been thinking? This was lunacy! I tried to drag my little brother into it and make him perform with me. Maybe if I had a four-year-old Sonny to my Cher, everything would be fine, but as far as he was concerned, I had gotten myself into this mess and I was going to have to get myself out.
At last, my mother suggested I simply give a fashion show. So, I tried on my fancy new rock star clothes and walked back and forth across the room. My elderly relatives politely clapped and smiled, and oohed and aahed, yet I felt I was wasting all of our time. They were not getting the promised concert, and I was settling for an embarrassing strut through the spotlight that was only somewhat less painful than the singing would have been.
I find myself in a similar place right now. Karen at Cheerio Road once said I regularly singe her eyebrows with my writing,** which is the most fabulous complement I think I've ever received. And yet, I don't feel that's the kind of honest, passionate writing I've been doing lately. I know I often hold myself to too high a standard. In fact, I too often hold myself to the highest, most unattainable standard: perfect. But that's not exactly what is disappointing me right now. I'm disappointed, not because I've tried and failed to achieve writing I'm proud of, but because I haven't been trying. I've been holding back. I've been hiding. I haven't been singing lately; I've been putting on a fashion show.
When I started this blog, I was just here talking to myself. I'd get a rush of excitement each time I checked SiteMeter and saw that someone had stopped by. I couldn't wait until I had an audience for all the raw truths I was sharing. That's why I was blogging, that's why we all blog: not just to write, but to be read. Slowly, that audience has grown and with it, my anxiety. Now that you all are here, seated in the living room, looking at me, I'm paralyzed.
*To give credit where credit is due: you can send an ecard with the title message. This card was sent to me by The Junky's Wife, who also desperately craves and loathes attention. Go pay attention to her; she'll love and hate you for it.
**Karen's compliment makes me think of this Tenacious D clip. That's right: my voice is fucking powerful!
Fear is not a bad thing. It pushes us past our own imposed limitations to accomplish great things. It's what you do here. You feel a responsibility to your reader and that is not a bad thing either. I think you are a bestseller just waiting to happen
...even when you think you write about nothing...to the reader it is something because no matter what it is, we always see your heart in it. But I get what you're saying 
Wow, that is a really embarrassing story. But good analogy! Keep writing and singing.
Oh mpj... we are lunitics, no? I guess there is no better place for us then, but here, together.
The crazy thing for me is that I feel I have been signing my heart out, and the audience is just siting there, saying, "so...is that it?"
Sigh... My name is mantra, and I am addicted to attention in the form of comments. God, grant me...
MPJ, if you're going to beat yourself up with it, I take back what I said.
Oh, but I do this too. Recently I've heard myself say to whomever's around, "I'm in a rut. I'm not interested. I have nothing to say." And then, having heard it, I make it so.
Perhaps we should just fugetaboutit and get on with things?
Just a silent fan piping up to say hi and I enjoy your writing.
I know what you mean. Actually, I've been thinking I wish my blog were even more anonymous. A few people who know me in the real world know about my blog, and now I wish they didn't so I could put more in it that I can't now. And then I feel like I can't disappoint those who already read by being human or something. Viscious cycle. Argh. LOL.
Well this post here was some fantastic writing.
I appreciate your honesty. I have a love hate relationship with being read, comments. Loving them but not wanting to. The ecard made me laugh out loud.
Maybe you are just resting right now. We can't be "on", brilliant, insightful, funny, interesting all the time. Why should blogging be any different. Sometimes just showing up is all you can do and need to do.
Even if you don't feel your giving your "best" now, I must say, that polyester looks fabulous on you.
I'm luckier than most as all my real relatives and friends hardly even have a computer and don't have a clue what a blog might be.
I am immune to embarrassment of any kind now.
Cheers
Ah, we're so similar. The main reason I couldn't finish my Master's thesis (well, apart from being depressed) was because I felt so stressed out from all the expectations people had of me. Blogging was a welcome release from that because there was no pressure, no deadlines, and my anonymous readers didn't scare me because I didn't know who the fuck they were. I wouldn't really say that I feel pressured by blogging now, but I don't post every day because I tell myself that I don't have the time to write the long posts I do. That's true, but I could always post something shorter. I don't, though, because I'm too much of a perfectionist. If I don't go into great detail, I feel like I've failed.
Wow, I would never have volunteered to sing or do a fashion show in front of anyone! I'm so afraid of embarrassing myself! I wish I were more spontaneous and would do things like that. I get embarrassed when playing charades too!
Writing gives me perspective. The ability to step back and really look at whats going on in my head today.
In treatment, I figured I would like to write, I started daily journaling. Then, blogging appealed to me. So I just started that. It's still like journaling. Just exploring my thinking, hoping for feed back to point me back towards my journey.
Recovery blogs are great resource. Lots of us on the same journey. Towards freedom from self.
Thank you, MPJ, for sharing your journey with us. Much appreciated.
Hey sweets, just remember, it's YOUR blog, not a public service organization. You have no obligation whatsoever. I'm always pleasantly surprised to find new posts around here, but even if there are none, I know that you have a life, a family and one isn't always up to being bright and insightful amidst the crowds.
I've left my readers post-less for weeks on end and you guys still keep coming back 
Look at me
Love, M.
Ahhh... yes... I can totally relate.
We compare our insides to everyone else's outsides...
Thanks for all the comments, you all. I have finally read them, and it's wonderful to have you all here.
Here I am showing up late to the party again. I wanna say that your experience is not your experience, that you ARE singing opera even when you think it's a fashion show. But I just looked in your toolbox and remembered that your experience IS your experience. It's still opera to me.
I've been hearing a lot lately that the negative experience exists to give birth to desire. perhaps, because of that, we should embrace the negative or at least look at it in a different way. Ha! that's so easy to write.
Of course if you are thinking this post is a fashion show I would have to contradict you. And even if it were, a show is a show is a show.