a) my extreme fear of rejection- I'm sure this is something I will have to overcome as soon as possible if I ever want to succeed as a writer. But... it's ok to not face it just yet, being a sensitive teenager and all. Right?
b) my irrational belief that I am living some sort of secret life my parents are unaware of- I always imagined that if I started a blog it would be full of my juiciest secrets. You know, the types of things you can't tell your family, but you can tell random strangers on the internet: boys, parties, and catfights. I know these things barely happen in my extremely dull life, but apparently my parents know all about them when they do! What gives? What happened to my illustrious double life as some troubled teen? Do I not even get that? I mean, why start a blog if it isn't full of your angst filled rants about how your parents don't understand you. Apparently mine understand me just fine. There goes the excitement of keeping my blog a secret. Surely, there is not point in starting one.
c) the fear that I would write about someone who would then read it- The thought of confrontation is a worst case scenario for people who are passive aggressive like me! I can't imagine if someone came up to me with my own words about them and demanded a straight answer. Would "I don't have anything against you personally, I just think you give off an air of being vapid and shallow that exemplifies the worst stereotypes about you and most of the other popular, rich girls in your clique" be an adequate answer? Maybe it would just be better for me to keep my cynical observations about high school in my journal, where no one can use them against me...
But... somehow I have already made it this far. I guess this blogging thing isn't so bad. Despite all my other reasons (which I will admit don't constitute a very strong argument) there is some part of me that is saying "give it a try Dorothy". So I will. I know that life is all about taking chances and doing the things that scare you, and if you're not getting busy living, you're getting busy dying. That's the same advice that is so easy for me to regurgitate to my friends in their times of need- but it is very hard to follow your own advice. It's scary to put yourself out there and share something that was previously the most guarded part of yourself. My writing was always just for me... I wouldn't even tolerate it if someone was standing in my vicinity (are they reading over my shoulder?!). However I realized recently that the reason I love writing so much is because I feel like it gives me a voice; what is the point of having a voice if you are too scared to speak up every now and then?
