Stasis

As much as I want to write and exposit, I just don't have words.
A heavy sadness is pressing in on me.
Sadness over the state of my life, mostly, and my seeming lack of control over it.
It should be so easy -- almost tangible, as if I could physically reach out and grasp my own fate.
And every choice would be clear.
But my fatal flaw is stasis -- I remain suspended in some sort of cocoon of my own making.
But inside, nothing is changing, and everything is changing -- constantly.
The different sides of me are at war with each other, with no progress to be had.
I'm not transforming into a beautiful butterfly.
I'm stuck in some larval form with no idea what I'm to do next.
So many options in my head; none seem right.
Shouldn't this metamorphosis be coming organically? Without my having to think twice?
I feel stillborn, half-developed, all fire in my heart but dead in my hands and brain.
And the only thing coming naturally to me is avoidance.
And I've grown weary of that game.

Some people have been teaching me a lesson lately... naysayers, hecklers and dissenters. Though, they are certainly more than these titles at their core--I don't begrudge them their experiences and resulting opinions.

I am a very sensitive person--sensitive myself, sensitive to others' feelings. I think. I enjoy sharing opinions and having discussion with people. However, lately, I have found myself in the company of people who have very dogmatic and caustic viewpoints. They have been quick to disagree with my feebly voiced opinions and sometimes harsh in their rebuttal. I'm speaking generally because (1) I have no desire to spotlight them or make this a bitch session and (2) it has happened in several completely different encounters and settings. The latter is the reason I am sure I am meant to learn a lesson in toughening my skin and allowing myself to be disagreed with.

I realized recently that if I am to become a writer someday, and if I were to succeed past all the odds and actually publish something that a lot of people wanted to read, I would have to put up with a lot of opinionated, ignorant people telling me what was wrong with what I wrote. (Not to mention all the rejections, editor's notes, and agent's suggestions that come BEFORE it gets published!)

I've noticed fame elicits this behavior from regular people where they fail to see the famous as a human being anymore. Look at paparazzi and crazed tabloid reporters--splashing every celebrity's flaws, dirty laundry, even just idle rumors across published pages for all to see. I'm not even envisioning myself with an iota of that fame, but no matter what, not everyone could or will like what I write. And if any fame or notoriety is achieved, they will come out in droves to voice their dissention. That's a little scary. It would fundamentally change who I am, and I can see the type of quiet, tough person I would have to become. Not someone I want to change into, but maybe necessary? Anyway, just something I've been pondering...