I am moved by your lyrical candor. I understand what you are feeling, at least in the way the prism of empathy scatters rainbows that catch my eye and make me think about myself. Isn't that a little sad? When we are most trying to practice compassionate understanding with another, we can only exercise it by locating a vaguely similar experience from our own life. But that is the twisted beauty of the human experience. What is most important is that we reach out and try to understand and care for one another. The dichotomy: "I love you", but "it's all about me".

I love you. I love the way you write, the way you are willing to put it all out there, the way you are with your family, the love you have for your husband. I love your humor, and I really love your constant allusions to The Matrix, cuz it's my favourite movie. I've seen it 26 times. In the all about me category [because, you know, the last sentence wasn't:)]: I love that you get me, or at least that I think SOMEONE out there gets me, but maybe it is just your little left toe swaying to the music and not your hand waving Hi. Me Too! The point is that I feel good, and safe, and reasonable in here, even though there are times when the rest of the world thinks I'm nuts for staying and knowing, believing in my heart and soul, that I am happy with my Love and my family and as long as there is progress that is good enough for me.

I write. I won't do any self-promotion here, cuz this is your gig. But I am working on something that will hopefully be published and useful, and I know this much to be true: If you are not willing to be brutally honest with yourself, and carve every sentence with the sword of truth, then readers will not relate because they will think you a fraud and know that you are holding back from revealing your best stuff. It is the truth that sets you free. When you are not guarding every word in fear that it will make you too vulnerable, your muse will hold your hand and take you soaring into your true self. A little Peter Pan and Wendy for you there. On the other hand, that willingness to be vulnerable and divulge too much for the sake of the craft is what give us writers a reputation for being reclusive, eccentric, and slightly batty. There is a price to pay for being brilliant. It's usually sanity. But if you find yourself eccentric, embrace it as a badge of honor, and know that you are not alone. I'm somewhere in the Pacific Northwest superstitiously wearing an ugly, lucky sweater and eccentrically writing too.
Big Smooch.

I do get the wanting to be understood part though. I used to think (still do at times) that it was my job to communicate the true, correct impression. And that's silly, really. I just don't have that kind of influence over another's perceptions—no one does. I can, however, influence my own perceptions so I am trying to focus on that.

I'm not even sure if this is what your talking about. But as you can see, you have me thinking again. That's a pretty influential thing, no?

Crazy world. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. I love the closed curtains part of this. It made me feel safe.

Keep on keeping on, mpj.

I haven't noticed you "hiding", to be honest. The only time I ever thought you were hiding something was when you were talking about your friend's new wife (you know thatfriend...the one whose wedding you went to). I could tell you really didn't like her, but you were so polite about it. I thought to myself "Oh, go on - just say that you think she's a bitch!". But, well, you're American and Americans are far politer than us Scots!

I relate so well to that need to be understood. I wonder sometimes if it is because I cannot understand myself.

A little less than a year ago, I began to use my thoughts of others as mirrors to reflect into myself. I've discovered some ugly things and some beautiful things, both of which I've found it equally hard to accept.

My thoughts and prayers are with you.