I’ve been away too long from my Post. Absent without Leave. With no Mother’s hand written note to excuse my behavior. I took time out to attend a one man show. A closed door meeting. An executive directive to seek professional help. Serious counseling for my new found fear.
Fear Of Blogging
Tongue tied. Hog tied. All blocked up. Stuck.
Nekked and Afeerd.
You watch it right? Like me? The series, Naked and Afraid, where seriously insane folks take off their clothes and enter a distant jungle empty handed, to face 21 days in the wilderness.
Each episode begins with up close and personal interviews with poisonous species, animals and plants. Close up footage of putrid green sludge pools disguised as potable water. Bare feet scrabbling over razor like shards of rock, dotted with thorny needles, fire ants and stinging nettles.
I’m okay with the panoramas of nature undisturbed by man. I, instead, am disturbed, by the backsides of these poor souls covered with hundreds, no, thousands of insect bites. What were they thinking? What are they doing? What possesses any one with a reasonable mind to expose themselves to these extreme conditions?
Oh I see. A challenge. A personal double dare ya to Fear. A resolute climb to walk the wire without a net. Maybe a fire starter or a hatchet to cut through the brush, but that’s all folks. Naked and Afraid, each contestant starts in exactly the same place. Skills in survival matter little when this is not what it seems.
This is not a challenge of skill. It is a battle of will.
The will to survive.
Blogging these days can be almost as dangerous as traveling naked through uncharted territory. I know because I have been hiding beneath a pile of research into acceptable blogging behavior. How not to cause offense. How it be witty and wise while using the proper pronouns, the politically correct jargon. How to have a point of view that is exactly, and I mean exactly, the same as my neighbor, a stranger, or a friend.
How to keep my head above water with out using too much or damaging the environment.
Problem. There are crocodiles in the water, parasites in the streams, blood thirsty insects buzzing through the air, snakes slithering along the branches, not to mention all those indistinguishable screeches in the night, when all you want is a good night’s sleep.
First of all, I am an older broad, and the sight of me wandering sans skivvies, would frighten anyone. So that’s out. My survival skills are much more focused, as I am aging faster by the minute. My days of camping are long past their sell date, as I prefer to sleep in a bed with a book, and a flashlight. Indoors. Away from predators. Predators focused on differences of opinion and indiscriminate pronouns.
Here I am. Facing my fears. I like to leave a typo or two in each of my blogs, as homage to the non-skimmers, and as a clever pause tool for those in a rush. I want to catch their breath, not mine.
When the red pen gang saddle up to ride the page, if I am lucky, while they are huddled up, mid-page searching for Waldo, suspended by their own suspenders, they just might find me instead. Hand on heart, yellow wellies to protect my feet, extending a simple and heartfelt invitation to come into the garden and sit for awhile. Many a mistake or error in our ways, often lead us to exactly where we belong.
Humans in the midst of humanity.
It is better to fail spectacularly,
than to fail by not even trying.
I have missed you.
I hope you have missed me.
You do not have to be Naked.
You need not be Afraid.
I have a box of matches,
flashlights and gallons of bug spray.
Because in the Garden, everyone survives.
In fact, they thrive.
These are the only ducks you need to worry about.
I will provide the cover.
A good pair of garden gloves and yellow wellies.
See you next week.