Shy

I’m not, really.  Shy, that is.  In a crowd of any size, I’m not afraid to jump into the conversation.  I love being part of the noise, even though I often say something awkward or wish I could pull words back into my mouth.  But I love the high stakes, the fact that I can’t take it back, the doneness of it all.  And everyone knows you can’t edit or delete or repeat any moments, so there is a raw, honest energy to that conversation.

But not here.  This is the world of spell-check, dreaming up the perfect adjective for the perfect noun, and delete-delete-delete.  It can all be hemmed and hawed over, primped and polished, perfected.  The problem is, I’m not quite perfect.  Not even close.  And although I love a good word or phrase and, even more, a great idea, I’m pretty shy about walking into this room of perfectly-edited, just-trendy-enough, usually Mormon stay-at-home glamour moms.

So I guess I’m hoping to get a little braver, but in the meantime just putting it out there that this is scary stuff.  Hats off to all of you who have pushed “publish” enough times that it doesn’t raise your blood pressure.  I’m getting there.

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