Why I Write

It was brought to my attention last week that my writing is a bit depressing. Someone I recently met said he didn’t really want to know those things about me. Wow, that threw me off. Besides being a bit offended (criticism is difficult to handle regardless of how open you think you are) I hadn’t thought of my writing as depressing. I mean, yes some of the things I write about aren’t the things you want to dance a jig over but they’re relatable and that’s what I try to put out there. I think lots of what I write is funny too. Even the more difficult topics have humor in them. I live my life through humor. My entire family does and the majority of people I call friends are the same way. Laughter IS the best medicine. I laughed with my grandmother while she was in a hospice. I’ve laughed at funerals. I’ve laughed at spiritual gatherings. I’ve laughed while breathing into an oxygen mask in an emergency room. I’ve laughed through broken hearts and moments of mourning. I laugh at myself when no one else is around and I laugh at all of the more appropriate moments of life.

Actually, this person’s comments came days after someone else I know questioned me about… well, basically he questioned my life. He questioned me about many of my life choices but most difficult to deal with was my spiritual beliefs and of all things where I live. That’s a story for another day but in the meantime… when I was told my writing was difficult to read I was maybe a little more sensitive than I should have been… but maybe not. Maybe I didn’t deserve his criticism at all. I don’t know… Maybe this person had their own reasons for not liking it, reasons that had little or nothing to do with me. For one thing, it was a guy. I tend to call men out on some of their shit in my writing. Maybe I should put a warning on my Blog about that. I hadn’t known this person very long when he read my blog. Maybe I should hold off on letting people read my stuff until we’ve known each other for awhile. It’s just a bit odd if I talk about writing and then refuse to let them read my writing. I’m not ashamed of what I expose of myself so why hold back? Maybe I should hold back some though. I don’t know. I have to think longer on that.

I thought a lot though about what he had to say and this is the answer I came up with as to why my writing may be on the sad side… darker moods… sadness, heartache, loss etc. are the things that bring people together in a way the good times don’t. It’s that simple. Hitting rock bottom emotionally makes us vulnerable. It’s the even playing field that we all can relate to. Different things make us laugh and different things make us happy. I have friends that their kids are the only real thing that fulfills them. I have friends that if they NEVER had kids they would be in heaven. Other friends want nothing more than to be married, some only need/want a partner and a piece of paper doesn’t make a difference. Some are happy when they are high and some are "high" on life itself. Some are happy being with a man and some a woman… some neither or both. Some can’t watch television if it isn’t a flat screen and some choose not to own a television. Some need a new outfit for every occasion and some just need two pairs of well worn jeans. Again… the things that make us happy differ a lot more than what makes us cry and hurt. We have all been rejected by a love interest. It doesn’t matter who that love interest was… same sex, opposite sex, older or younger, fifteen years ago or five days ago… doesn’t matter. The rejection and the very real feeling of your heart being ripped apart is relatable. We’ve all had a loved one die. The pain of loss is relatable whether it’s a family member, a friend or a pet.  We’ve all felt insecure with ourselves. Sometimes the insecurity is about our weight, our work title, our financial status, our level of education, a lisp or an accent... the list can go on. 

Another very important thing I realized is that it’s a bit taboo to talk about just the good stuff. I know being Puerto Rican that it’s cultural for us not to “brag” about the good things in our lives because it can be taken away. That’s a very Catholic thing too. I’ve talked to friends of different backgrounds and I’ve heard the same thing from them.

I looked back at some of my blog entries and honestly, I have to go back to “I think it’s his thing” because there is something good and positive in each of the entries, even in the ones that are on the darker side. The writing about Michael, it isn’t that the relationship ended that was my point. It was a celebration of love, young, promising, hopeful love. How many high school loves last? The fact that I had love like that is a blessing. It isn’t terrible that we’re living two different lives. It’s wonderful that we got to reconnect and KNOW how the other turned out. That brings a sense of coming full circle and not everyone gets to experience that.

My writing about 9/11 is sad but I found not only humor in my father’s actions but security in my relationship with my mother. I was with my mother and my grandmother. I knew my sister was safe and far from the danger in New York. I was afraid of what was happening in the world but MY world was as it should be.

The story about my hair is sad but I’m healthy in so many other ways. That’s a blessing. The funny part is that 1. If you don’t believe in hexes… well, the fact that I think my father’s daughters hexed me is pretty funny and 2. If they did hex me… well, it backfired. Yes, my hair fell out but my life is full in all the ways that count. I don’t want to go over each entry and defend my words but I needed to do at least THIS much for myself. 

I know this person wasn’t trying to attack me or my writing but the truth is that I put so much of who I am in my writing that it’s hard not to be sensitive to the criticism. I used to write only for myself and with lots of encouragement and touching feedback I decided to put myself out there a little more. More times than not I have had people tell me how much they appreciate my words, sometimes thanking me for saying things that they didn’t know how to say themselves. Sometimes what I’ve written has helped people to share with me things they don’t share with most. I’m just one person who is either crazy enough or naive enough to put her emotions out there for review. I don’t’ think I have the answers. In fact, I know I don’t have the answers. I only know what I’ve lived through and what I think about and I write it down. I reach out by letting people read it. If I can connect to others then I’m a step ahead in my own world because positive feedback doesn’t make me feel like a know it all, it makes me feel less alone. Connecting reminds me that I may be walking my own path but in no way does that mean it has to be a lonely journey. It’s simple. I love writing. That’s what makes me a writer, whether I ever become published or if I go back to just writing a journal, I love this and having people relate is just a blessed perk.