I wasn’t aware of it. Of being Me. I suppose that’s because it’s natural. I can’t stop being myself, or at least I’d find it hard to. Yet, I still wasn’t aware that by just being me I was having an affect. An impact. I didn’t know that I was ‘inspiring’ someone. When I wrote it was partly to fulfil a deal, and also because it had become my routine. Sometimes I cringed at the work – the voluminosity *I’m sure it’s a word* of grammatical errors was embarrassing. I noticed clichéd phrases reappearing, and the tag cloud looked slightly monotonous. When I checked the site stats it always peaked the day I left a link on Facebook. I didn’t really think people read it, not regularly, not because they were genuinely interested. Maybe out of pity, tepid interest, the lack of other notifications…
It was such an honour then, a surprise, a strange acknowledgement, that by unconsciously being Me, I was inspiring a We. To know that ‘doing it just the way you are’, by doing you made someone else smile, made someone else want to try harder, made someone else care for you more, appreciate you, empathise and in a strange way understand you. It was…an honour.
I was apprehensive at the beginning. I knew that by writing this I was leaving myself vulnerable to anyone that would read it. And I strongly dislike being vulnerable. It makes me sick. I sweat. You know, the kind when your skin starts to prickle and for some reason you can taste vinegar…maybe that’s just me. You feel slightly naked, exposed…no? Well maybe you should try writing a blog. This blog.
Yet, getting naked in this way, mentally and emotionally naked and baring all to the world, even if it hasn’t given me an explicit freedom, it’s inspiring to know that it’s given a transitive freedom. It’s given you the freedom to write. And write so eloquently, so beautifully, and would you believe it powerfully.
I was just being me, unconsciously. But I’m glad you decided that was the Me you wanted to know. And I’m glad you shared a bit of your me with Me. That was inspiring.