Deleting the drafts
Aug 7 · 3 min read
So i wrote a little while back about not sharing the drafts on this blog.
im not going into it tonight, you can look back and read the entry if you like. in a nutshell it was about writing things down and not being able to share them because they were very personal to one specific person.
i apologized, and then rationalized my fear of being dishonest about wanting to be transparent with the world; but still holding those back. i felt guilty.
so tonight. I.
deleted the drafts.
all of them.
gone. no copies. nothing saved of them on my puter or anywhere else.
if i am not willing to publish it. and if the person it was intended for has seen it. why save it.
it hurt. it hurt bad to press that button and wipe them out forever.
see. i love to look back and read what i have written. its almost therapy to read and to digest last week, last month, last year, amazingly, last decade.
so just erasing something that i wrote, that’s exceptionally hard for me to do. then again; if i couldnt post it. if it was that personal. between us, you and i. why keep it?
what good comes from writing something down and not giving it to the world anyway?
so i erased them all. night before last i wrote my 100th essay. thats really another lie, because tonight i deleted the other thirty four essays that i hadnt posted. but i only counted the rest of them.
i should have been proud of 100 about two years ago.
kind of a strange feeling. knowing that i get deep enough into the weeds a third of the time that i cant put myself out there with it. and yes, i explained that. it isnt for my sake. but still. this is supposed to be about transparency and trust. and honesty. and yet, i wrote off thirty four notes that would have shared that stuff with you for the sake of somebody elses privacy tonight.
when i get a thought that needs sorted out; i do much better with it here; on virtual paper than i do without being able to review it.
and no matter how much i want to say that i can share every bit of me with everybody on this planet; and maybe i could; i cant share every bit of those people closest to me for the reasons noted in the other essay.
i still need to write it down to express it. and i never know whether i can share it until i read it back. i dont do drafts of this shit after all. i spellcheck it and hit the send button. but i need to write it out to sort it out.
and yes, turns out it isnt a hundred. its a hundred thirty four. or it was until a few minutes ago.
but those other ones werent meant for you anyway. they were for me. and for the one at the center of them. we have both read them. likely have discussed them and have been embarrassed about it.
so why not get rid of them? old news. rearview mirror.
ask an artist to burn his form of expression. ask a veteran to throw away the letters he wrote to his wife while he was away.
basically what i did tonight. i erased a bunch of pretty personal letters to somebody that i cared about and wrote about. it is different than the examples because the artist doesnt throw away the painting. the recipient does that if it happens. the artist doesnt have it anymore.
the veteran doesnt throw the letters away, the recipient does that. the veteran doesnt have them anymore.
thats why i got rid of it. i was the veteran keeping the letters after i had mailed them. what good does it do? i have expressed myself. the words have been floated over the electrons. why would i keep something that might have been erased on the other end by now?
sort of freeing really. letting those go. knowing i dont have to ever relive those emotions. leaving the responsibility to somebody else.
i like it.
may god bless you and keep you.
may he make his face to shine upon you.
and may he allow you the dignity to throw away old junk.