Clowns to the left. Jokers to the right.

It has been very difficult to write lately, you see I have unintentionally returned to a childhood state of fear and I know it is through no one's fault except my own. Whilst I struggle with this burden  I have rendered myself mute. After years of inwardly complaining that it is external factors that have silenced me, I have in effect put a rather large sticking plaster over my own gob. It was never my intention to turn my lockdown journals into political rants and I would rather not become too opinionated; I thought I would be the champion of light entertainment, teatime magazine posts with the odd dad joke and breezy life observations; all positioned through a rose tinted lens. Alas, as this confounded pandemic has gone on I have found myself on the precipice of something new and I fear the leap I could take. I am under no illusions - I know that right now, not one person is asking me to write my life observations and this is nothing more than a hobby. I think the few I have gathered in terms of readership would prefer if I kept it pop and easy listening but sometimes I am stuck with tunes in my head that are more black metal than a cheesy pop ballad.

I guess I am trying to figure out how to write honestly, at least allowing myself the freedom to be as honest as I can. I figure that if I ever did want to write for any reasons other than a hobby, my opinions would end up out there for all to see and once those things are out there, I would have to learn how to deal with the inevitable accusations. The world of opinion is a hateful place, despite that the one thing we share in common is that we all have 'em.  The things we acclaim as facts are often little more than the way we see things and it appears we are not always open to 'trying on' another person's viewpoint. The hate is on every side, mud slinging from the left, shit flaying from the right and it doesn't matter how centrist you believe you are, your version of a reasonable point of view will have you nudged by your opponents like a proverbial sumo wrestler. Do I have the weight behind me to stand my ground?   I realise as I write this, my personal need to stay sleepily in the middle, curled safely in my foetal position is born equally from a place of fear and privilege. Perhaps, I have discovered  the real reason why I have never committed to a dream of becoming more of a writer. I think, my little lost girl claims of 'just being human' have run their course and my naivety needs replacing with a stronger stomach, which at this point is feeling queasy. So here I stand, with a big sticking plaster over my mouth. Being the good little female I have been taught to be.

We have a rule in the school I work in which: it states, we are always 'Kind and Friendly' and it is our most important rule. I have been quoting and saying this rule for a little over 20 years now but in recent times it has caused deeper and more examined reflection. What exactly does it mean to be kind? Can you still be kind and strong?  Can you be kind and disagree strongly? How do you go about this? If I am entirely honest I have been hiding behind the concept of 'being kind' and have often censored myself and been dishonest in the pursuit of  a sense of false 'kindness'. In reality, hiding from a point of view to protect yourself from conflict is no more a kindness than those who bully others who think differently from themselves. Kindness, in my opinion, is a proactive choice of doing good unto others and not primarily seeking the protection of one's self. My 'kindness' has been embedded in weakness and I feel now is the time to do better. I regrettably lost one of the most important relationships because I believed my kindness was best demonstrated in avoiding truths and this has left me with gaping holes which will never be filled. I have learnt that to be truly kind to others you have to afford some to yourself, and sometimes that means giving yourself the freedom to be honest, even if your nearest and dearest do not agree.