In addition to this blog, I’ve begun submitting some of my
writings to a writer’s blog, The Write Practice. The comment that I regularly receive on my
writing is that it is honest and sincere.
I am complimented when I hear this, as that is my goal when I write – to
be truthful and open.
My proclivity towards sincerity has been with me since
birth. Like the little girl with the
curl on her forehead – when I’m good I’m very, very good and when I’m bad, I’m
horrid. I’ve been sincerely kind and sincerely mean;
I’ve been sincerely happy and sincerely sad.
But always sincere.
I don’t know if this quality came from nature or nurture; I
just know it’s always been there. I
consider this one of my better qualities, but it’s also opened me up to a great
many hurts. Like an open book, I’ve been
exposed to rough handling, coffee stains, rips and scribbles in my
margins. But I’ve also experienced the
loving touch of someone turning my pages to read my next paragraphs.
Honesty is another story.
Though I’d like to believe my honesty comes from some deep morality
within me, really (honestly???) it’s because I’m such a lousy liar. I always have been. No poker face here. You never want to tell me about someone’s
surprise party. I’m able to keep a
secret…unless confronted by a direct question, at which point my “Who me? I know nothing.” expression reveals
everything.
I believe this quality came from God, more for my protection
than as a reward. This was His way of “leading
me not in to temptation”. Since I know I
won’t succeed in lying, it’s not worth the effort.
In my writing, I try to be honest and sincere in order to
help people. I spent much of my life
feeling strange, the only one like me.
Through much reading, listening and observing I’ve discovered I’m not
all that different. The rest of humanity
is just as screwed up as me. It’s just
that I’m more open about it.
Certainly, many say they’re confused and unsure of
things, but I don’t get the sense they believe it. They say the words, but they
don’t complete the thought. They don’t
reveal the honest, down and dirty examples.
They’re not being sincere.
In these instances, I don’t think people are trying to
deceive, as much as they’re trying to protect themselves. They want to keep their book in pristine condition,
revealing only the dust jacket version of their story. It looks good on the bookshelf, but it’s not
really of any use.
I want to be of use to people. I want everything I’ve seen, heard, tasted,
smelled, and touched to be of some use – the sweet and the sour, the melodic
and the discordant. I want my life to
have some purpose beyond just myself. I
want to be an opened and read book from which people learn and are
entertained. The only way I know how to
do this is by being honest and sincere.
