Is This What Vulnerable Means?

Last time I talked to my Life Coach* she brought up the idea that maybe I should blog about the rebranding campaign I’m doing for a 20-year-old character in my wildly unthought of oeuvre. While discussing this, she used the word “vulnerable,” as in, “…if you would ever want to be that vulnerable in that way,” or something like that. She said it better. Because she’s the Coach.

To me, sharing that kind of information about my continued failure to gain any sort of foothold in any possible market for any of my writing is not even close to true vulnerability.

Now. If I got on here and started telling you about how I noticed an article in the New York Review of Books about Charleston, the old house in Sussex where so many of those Bloomsbury critters hung out together over so many decades and that the mere subject of said article and its accompanying photo made me choke up and sort of cry with longing and a little homesickness for a place I’ve never been, people I’ve never met, and sights I have never seen in person (which, in turn, made me wonder where that kind of weird, strong, visceral pull comes from if not from past lives, or the unknowable connections that are always being made and refined and destroyed and repurposed out in the ether of the universe)? Well. Yeah. That would be maybe a little too much vulnerability for me to show.

So, no. I don’t want to be that vulnerable on this blog.

Drawing room at Charleston Farmhouse, East Sussex

But I’m okay with being a complete failure. There are so many more of us than success stories, what’s to be sad about?

Hey. It’s a post, right? I’m not going to stop. Ever. Even though I probably should have years ago. But no. Years from now, I’ll still be writing. Hating myself for failing at it, but never stopping. It’s gonna be so great, man! Whew! I. Am. STOKED!

* Yeah, I always just talk to her; I think she’s all right with that. Apparently there are some people who use Skype or Facetime and shit like that for their coaching sessions. I guess I’m so old school that I think such stuff only belongs on “The Jetsons” and not in my actual life at 6:00 in the morning.