Imperfcetion

I am usually amused to see how people express themselves using literature - be it blogs, poems or say, newspaper columns. Though the expression could be about themselves, their life lessons or about a social cause, each one has their own way of telling the story. While few prefer the spoken form, I personally have an inclination towards written literature. My bias is backed by the fact that written forms tend to travel farther across the globe and have greater chances of survival.

I had always wanted to develop the habit of writing. It helps convey what the mind or the heart has within without much social interaction. The urge had been there for quite a while before I started to act on it. I tried, a little I would say but couldn't go far. I tried again, and nothing changed. I failed miserably and I gave up. I was talking to a friend about this and that is when I realised the one major problem that I was facing: content. While I had plenty I could informally talk about, I had nothing that I could put down.

With much effort, I chose to jot things that I am sensitive about. I gave a shot at it while sitting at the terrace in the middle of the night amidst a cool breeze, while being lost in the silence of the nature, intermittently disturbed by the sound of a passing car or a dog barking at some distance. I tried scribbling about the events that mattered to me, the emotions that make me who I am. I think I did better. I wrote, I read and it felt good. However, I kept it to myself.

I started writing a little more often. It helped lighten me up. It felt like all that was lying underneath since years had started to come out. However, I could never show it to anyone; I am an introvert. Few pieces of writings here and there and I needed validation on where I was going with this. Eventually, I started showing the art to few friends of mine. They read, they praised; to be honest, I was looking for some criticism. Few pushed that they read all of them; I denied. Few pushed that I showed it to the world: it was intimidating. I resisted.

A few months later, to add some excitement to my then boring and monotonous life, I decided to take that advice more seriously. I created an account on one of the blogging sites and wrote a 5 liner first post. However, I realised that until I shared it with folks, putting it out in the world would have no meaning. I deleted the account.

While writing that first post, I had a few thoughts running on my mind, of which the one that kept most of my attention was how I wanted it to be perfect. Behind closed doors, I could try a broad number of things that I wanted to. However, when it came to share those publicly, I was obsessed with making it flawless. Only perfection could give me comfort and I knew I had to get out of the zone.

I also considered using a pen name for that post. It was later that I saw the bigger picture. I was afraid of rejection and hence had the apprehension to share the little collection that I had created. I dreaded making mistakes and being laughed at. I was missing courage and I was taking an escape route by blaming it on the fact that I was an introvert: I am, I still am one. But, I needed to segregate the two aspects.

Time has elapsed and here I am today, trying again; with more courage and determination; sharing posts that are far from perfect; but ensuring that I cross the first post barrier. For a change, I ensured I made a mistake in the title itself so as to not be afraid of making one at the edn.

Could I be more poetic!