Monday, May 10, 2010

Day 130

My writing group meets tonight and a sense of dread started to set in a few days ago. There are several members who write pieces that, to my way of thinking, are very esoteric. They are intended for a particular audience. I am not a member of that audience. I am bored by these pieces and don't want to read or comment on them. Yet as a member of the group I feel obligated. Furthermore, as a member of the human race I feel obligated to be nice.

What would happen if I stopped being nice and started being real? I imagine going to the group and, if asked to comment, saying, "I read as much of your piece as I could tolerate. My mind started to wander halfway through the second paragraph. I have no interest in outbuildings." No sniveling apologies. No placating positive comments. No condescending half-truths. Just real feedback based on my own experience. Isn't that what I want from the group?

Obligation binds us to each other in ways that are dysfunctional and ugly. It seems to me that telling the truth (little t, not big T) is the only way to break these ties. What is it that holds us back? For me, it is fear: fear of being ostracized, excluded, abandoned, alone. I have spent many years being untrue to myself (and consequently angry) because I didn't want to face this fear.

Maybe it's time to try.

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