Smeagol is Free!
A hermitudinal view of...stuff...


What I Wear

Tonight, I write about writing. Well, sort of. For the past couple of days, I suppose you could say that I've had blogger's block. It's different in my mind from writer's block, since there's plenty for me to write about, and no lack of ability or willingness to write. Blogger's block kicks in when I feel like what's going on in my head and heart feels far too redundant for the world at large to be interested in it. I suppose that might happen when you're working the same job for nearly an entire month, and not a single day of reprieve relieves you from the monotony of life. But is that really it? I doubt it.

At times, it feels like my heart's a tangle of thought and emotion. When that happens, journaling will often solve it. If you've ever seen my journal, or if you journal might understand why it's helpful for me. But I digress. I've not journaled for a couple of days. This happens sometimes, but it's not that big a deal. My thoughts on life will get jotted down eventually, but it's often the process that counts most for me.

But what of blogging? Aaahhh, therein lies the most delightful of conundrums. It's somewhat like my wardrobe. In the confines of my room, where I'm the only one who will see me, I can try on whatever I wish, my desires limited only by imagination and taste. In my room, I can be as comfortable or uncomfortable as I like with what I wear. Once I step out my door, however, and into the common areas of Fuller Hall, I am confined by acceptable limitations naturally imposed by the public at large. In my bathroom, it is perfectly acceptable for me to go naked, even necessary at times. Outside and in public, well...not so much.

The point for all of this is that I have a large number of thoughts and feelings that I find to be perfectly proper and normal behind the shuttered windows of my mind, things that I'll almost certainly never give public shape and form to. But thoughts that I'll willingly walk out of my door, into the public eye, and wear for all to behold? Quite different, quite different. I rarely have nothing to say, still less commonly do I have nothing I'm thinking about. Thoughts run deeply; what you see on the surface often hides what swims and lurks beneath, where whatever is there can escape from the light of day.

Scott once told me that everything I wore was a statement. Little did he know how correct he was. I suppose that, more than I wish, I feel forced to ensure what the public sees is fit for public seeing. But here's the kicker, the part that makes me really stop and think and go, "Hmmm." Doesn't the cross of Christ, in a sense, tear the away the veil that shields our innermost selves from the rest of humanity? Don't misunderstand me, I'm not advocating running around naked, nor am I imploring anyone to go confess their deepest and darkest sins to just anyone. There's an order that needs observing, and wisdom that needs to be exercised within that order, with proper submission and authority to all contained therein. What I'm getting at is a heart issue. Like Scott said, much of what I "wear" is a statement. The question, then, is what I'm stating.


posted by Bolo | 11:13 PM
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