I’ve been away meeting some wonderful new people, fighting off the debilitating aftermath of a tick-borne illness, and exhausting myself with talking about me.
I don’t really like the me-me-me thing (this space doesn’t count)…truth to tell, I’d rather hear about you, or talk about ideas. Talking about one’s self endlessly for two days is like being caught in an undertow of syrup: It’s sweet (that folks want to know about you), then a little scary and off-putting and tough to swim against. After a while, the tide just sucks you under. Afterward, it you survive it, you just want to go shower the “you” off you.
The people I met were great. A number of them quite amazing, really. Felt instantly at home with them. And yet, trying to share your potential–to make yourself known–in half an hour, and then doing it again with a new group, and then another…after a while, you’ve done the “all about me” thing to death, and you worry that the folks you’re speaking with are as sick of you as you are. A huge case of the ego-guilts.
I am a me of Words. Of expression. Of sentences and characters and persuasions (whether those are in fiction or in the ad-craft.) Before the daily demands of the craft, I am humble and humbled. I am most truly alive in the created world. I am not sure that the corporeal wraith that represents me is significant.
The words are who I am. This is the truth of me. It always has been.
As for the people I met over the past two days in the me-fest of interviews, should any of those great folks find themselves wandering over here to this space, I send my fond respects and my affection. Thank you for your welcome and your generosity. I assure you that I am not as self-involved as I seem. This writer would much prefer to be writing. I hope you saw that.
Tomorrow, back to the subject that makes me happiest: the art of the word. And in the meantime, if any of my AL folks are looking for this, here’s the link to the thing I talked about waaaaayyyy too much: The Spiritkeeper.