Wearing My Heart on my Sleeve
“But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve.” Shakespeare coined this phrase first in Othello. Miriam Webster’s dictionary defines it as, “Showing your intimate emotions in an honest and open manner.” I have been told I wear my heart on my sleeve. It seems more of a curse than a blessing up until now. And yet, here I go again.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog. Your time is so valuable and yet you decided to spend the seven or eight minutes here. It means a lot to me because this blog won’t change your life, but it will mine. It seems futile then (you reading my blog), doesn’t it? Maybe, but you may have a laugh along the way and some food for thought.
I used to think that my writing would and could change people – maybe even the world. I assumed I had something to say. I naïvely believed that any piece of good writing went straight to the brain and re-wired the reader and vola. I supposed I sound like some kind of American dictatorial President, don’t I? Or the CEO of Facebook – especially with the assumption that I think I write well. [Hear maniacal laughing in the background] - (I was thinking of using an African President as an example, but they have more honour than those idiots Trump and Zuckerberg). Anyhow, I have gotten on the beaten path, back into the bush.
My writing; any piece of writing won’t change the reader. Writers can’t change readers. It is as immutable a fact as the rising and setting of the sun. This thought brings relief. I can now continue this blog without any pressure on me that what I write from here on in, will 1. either be of any good, 2. make a difference in your life or 3. (god forbid) change who you are. What a beautiful thought.
I have wanted to be a writer since I was a boy. (As I tried to write boy, I made a typo, it came out BOT, - the bots are coming, that is the future with chat GPT – maybe a post from it in the future). I think this desire to write came from how words feel to me and how good authors convey them. The desire to express myself in writing is strong, not perfect or good, but strong. I try to copy the best writing I have read and make it my own.
I have tried not to write, but it is difficult. Something always calls me back to write. Another poem, another sentence, another revision. Words that look imperfect after birth – a skew feel, or shape or sound want to die and yet I want to keep them alive, make them better or something more beautiful. I want words to be their best selves. As if my mind hadn’t conceived them and their existence is beyond my mind, as it were. The reflection of the mind can be cruel.
SwimGym, the place where I work now, gave me something I am truly grateful for. A wall upon which to write. You see, the walls there are painted with a paint that can be written on with chalk markers. The coaches write the swim trainings on these walls and at the end of the day wipe the slate clean. I write poems on these walls because that is their and my purpose. These poems are seen by the people I have got to know well. The writing rightfully vanishes at the close of the day.
I think we all want to make a difference in life, to be seen and valued – I do, anyhow. Since I was a child, I wanted that difference to be with writing. Writing is somewhat of a journey into wearing your heart on your sleave and confidence to show the world the result. The confidence has grown over time, this blog is a testament to that. Yet there is still so much doubt and uncertainty about my mind, the words and how they land in the minds of others. In this regard, SwimGym helped me here again by asking me to write blogs for them about swimming. It has given me more confidence in my ability to believe in my writing ability.
Two things I love, writing and swimming. Wearing my heart upon my sleeve, I ask – is it naïve to have a job where I can do two things that I love? The world is harsh in its answer. Money and power trump love.
I am conscious of the fact that my writing makes people, who read it, feel something – good or bad. It makes them see what works or doesn’t, for them, and that’s ok. I used to think that if people didn’t connect with my writing that that was my inability to write what they wanted, but I now know it’s not true. My writing helps people clarify their feeling’s and helps them to write their own story more clearly. What more could I ask for?
My writing cannot change you, but it does change me. Every time I take pen to paper or finger to keyboard, I am writing myself out of an older story and into a newer one. One letter at a time I am changing. It is a love letter to self. It happens slowly and imperceptible. Only when I look back do I see the path snaking along like a cryptocurrency index. I am not the person I was, as a young boy, yearning to write and wanting people to read what I had written, because now I am writing and you are reading and for that my world is different and to you, I am grateful.
“Showing your intimate emotions in an honest and open manner,” is a scary thing. I encourage it. Do it responsibly. Whatever you feel from reading this blog I hope it’s given you the courage to do something that you love, yet scares you. Let the world see a little more. It is difficult, I know. You are beautiful and the world is waiting to embrace your heart upon its sleeve.
