Dang Those 2 x 4s

Yesterday was an interesting day--not one of my favorites, by any means, but necessary. It was a lesson day, provided by the good old 2 x 4, strategically applied to the side of my head.

Dreamers and idealists are practically conjoined twins. You can hardly have one without the other, the way I see it. I'm a hopeless idealist, which is why I am so quickly disappointed by what set me off yesterday--This Blog.

What the author (one I respect and admire for his excellent writing) wrote shocked me and offended me. Frankly, it was an awful piece that indicted teenagers and baby boomers as guilty of creating "their own blogs — all for the sake of being heard. They’re taking up space with half-formed opinions and rants, and it’s given the blogosphere an infamously bad name." He then proceeded to say that "their content sucks", it should piss off the real writers, and "you can judge and mock too, if you really want."

It seemed so unlike him. It was smug, snobby, elitist--even if, as he says, it wasn't his intention. Intention or not, it was. His point, which was ultimately supposed to be that good writers have to be good marketers as well, was completely lost.

I commented on it. I was too nice in an attempt to gloss over how I really felt. Then I went too far and I was dishonest. When he replied to my comment and said he was sorry if he offended me, I told the author of the post, "No harm, no foul."  

I lied. The truth is, it was a huge foul and I was offended.

Somehow, I managed to lose my voice, once again.  

When will I ever learn?  
When will I ever figure out that the sky will not fall on my head if I speak my mind?  
When will I ever stop seeking the approval of others?

I understand the source of my tendency to be a sweet, easy-to-get-along-with-don't-hurt-anybody's-feelings-or-rock-the-boat person. I was trained well to seek approval.

For the most part, I think anyone who knows me will tell you that I am a caring and genuinely nice person. The fact is, it's not who I really am, at least not all the time. Some things can make me mad--justifiable mad--or sadden me, or hurt my feelings (tell me I'm too sensitive one more time--go ahead, make my freaking day).

I can say what I think and not second guess my opinion, apologize for it, or let people off the hook.

For the sake of being heard, which I think I still have the right to do as an American (dare I say baby boomer) citizen, I have one thing to say to the ivory tower Great Writers looking down on the lesser among you:

Karma.