I’ve forgotten how to blog.

It’s not enjoyable anymore.

It’s part of my continuing frustration of seeming to speak seemingly significantly more than people are interested in listening.

And, as I’m apt to do, I take that reality and focus it back on myself.

Interesting builds interest.

And, in my narrowing range of discussion, and my lengthy way of going about it, I’ve become now even uninteresting to myself.

Looking back over my blogging–which includes this one, the four year long Present Matters, the essentially 2 year long Learning to Dance, and occasional other ones–I’ve noticed the patterns of my own interests. More than that, however, I’ve noticed the pattern of my own spiritual development. That’s shaped not only how I talk, but what I talk about.

Early on I wrote a lot on politics. I’ve not written on politics for a long while. Mostly because I see how it makes other people significantly less interesting. And, honestly, politics makes people betray what they would otherwise value in themselves. It’s hard to talk about politics without engaging in scorn false-witness, frustration, or any of the other qualities of partisanship. I have never once read someone talking about politics who was truly consistent in how they respond to various sides, and I realized I didn’t enjoy writing, or myself, when I was most engaged in politics. This is the case even as I have sharpened, I think, my own political sense and probably have some thing to add.

But, that’s that. And I’ve tired of talking about church now too. My thoughts on church have also sharpened, but there’s no present context I’m leading in and there’s no real audience who is particularly interested in what I have to say. Who am I? That’s the question indeed. What I’m not is a salesman. I hate camps and conferences and putting in time to see if people could pay attention. I hate talking just to be heard and expose myself just to be seen. I’m a nobody (and that’s not said with any self-derision) who every once in a while steps out to see what voice I have. Or if I’ve learned enough to say anything worthy of a hearing.

That’s clearly not true yet.

The problem is I’ve gotten into this cycle of writing out of the hope of being heard, which is partly because I’m concerned about my own professional status and partly because I really am interested in actual conversation.

I’m not enjoying it. And that’s a problem for me, because I only write in an interesting way and only write in a fruitful way when I’m not caring about what people think or if they read, but instead am writing out of a free enjoyment of sketching thoughts with words. I have to be free, and I’m not free.

Scripture says that where the Spirit is, there is freedom. So, where is the Spirit? Where is my expression?

I’m looking around for that. And I see some barriers lurking about in my being that might need crashing down.

It might not be pretty. Or maybe it will be. All I know is I need to find that expression again–that ‘me’ again–who has been absent from this blog and absent from most of a lot of things, able to be dredged up when needed, and able to play the part when it seems suitable.

My worry is that I’ve lost that ‘me’ and it belongs to a season past. Which is frustrating because what those previous seasons lacked, this present one has in full. So, I’m thankful for so much, even as I miss so much of my own being.

I need to write, to sketch, to explore, to find the freedom and courage of the writing again.

I have to find the way of being free. And find my way of being free with God.

Otherwise, I’m going to be drifting into a real persistent, pervasive creative emptiness. Which will, I have no doubt, echo in a whole lot of directions before long. And I can’t let that happen.

Prayers are, to be sure, appreciated.

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