There are all types of fences. There are the ones that exist in the physical world, the ones that act as barriers to keep us away. (See Chain link fence, part 1.) And then there are the invisible ones, the kind we construct consciously and unconsciously, to protect ourselves. These barriers, though motivated by the best of intentions (such as self-preservation), might in fact, act contrary to our best interests. For one thing, they keep us removed from fully engaging in life. And what’s the point of that?! I’ve already spent too many years playing it safe and being, at least a little, asleep, as much of a cliché as that may be. Fences also keep us from truly knowing the depth of our feelings, allowing us to remain strangers to ourselves. And maybe worse, they keep us stuck in muted tones instead of experiencing the whole rainbow of human emotions. By doing this, we are duller, less interesting, less dazzling. I’m also starting to believe that fences keep us stuck. The longer we refuse to look at and experience a strong or unconventional or unwelcome feeling, the longer it takes us to work through it or to be released from its grip. Playing it safe keeps us from sending strong signals to others which may, in the end, keep us from having the very thing we want (or think we want). Ironic, right? Alternatively, it keeps us from finding out as soon as possible, that we can’t have what we want, which lately has been my own experience. There’s no true moving on without acceptance first.
When I blog, I’m constantly trying to figure out where to put the fence – the boundary between public and private. There are some places I just won’t go in this format. Though I wish I could. Writing helps me work through particularly thorny or painful feelings and situations. It’s a therapeutic and creative outlet for when I’m brave enough to peel those extra layers away and, by doing so, expose the tender and vulnerable heart of a matter.