Being Selfish.

   I am afraid people will get bored reading what I write. I shared writing a blog once with someone else. A friend of mine read an article in that blog that the other person had written. Later I ask the reader what they thought. She replied,

   "I stopped reading because your blog was kinda boring." (Honesty sucks)

   I know for sure she was speaking of my fellow author and yet that statement sticks with me. A comment not intended for me and yet it still haunts me. Am I boring? (Please don't leave comments assuring me. That's not what I'm getting at.)

   I wrote a book this year. A memoirs of sorts. I am very afraid that my life experiences are just that, they're mine. They will not mean to anyone else the things they mean to me. No one will really care about what I have to say.

   I measure writing's worth up against this standard; if no one is reading then it isn't valuable. For instance I wrote and published "Define" a few days ago. It's gathered 15 views in the week it's been available.  I then published "What Do You Think of That" it garnered only half the views of my previous post. It's hard not to measure the value of what I do based on who responds to it.

   Is it possible that I struggle with not being selfish, with doings things for me? I don't write for me. I write for others to know about me.  Why? Can I find satisfaction in writing just for the sake of writing? I don't know. I have not so far and I've been writing since I was a wee-tyke. (like I was ever wee)

   How much does this affect the rest of my life? Can I love God and live out my beliefs because they are good for me? What if they don't affect some one else? Would I sing my songs for me? What if the only satisfaction I ever had from work, diet, exercise, hobbies, etc... is that they are good, just essentially good things to do? I'll be honest this idea scares me to death. I struggle with doing anything if it doesn't somehow garner attention from someone else.

   Could it be, Joe Davenport, king of conversation, confident to the point of being cocky, I, who thrive in groups of strangers, bare my soul on stage for thousands to see, am really on the inside afraid? Afraid of not having worth, of doing a good job, of being liked, of being boring. Do I do what I do to prove other wise? Would I write this blog if no one read it? Do I ask these questions to find an answer or because it gives me something to write about and in return may bring you back to read some more?

   I won't lie. I told you earlier not to leave comments but secretly I'm hoping you do.

   I've let myself ramble my fears in this blog. I hope you see them for what they really are. The truth is that these things are what I've been thinking about since I wrote and published "Define." It has forced me to reconsider why I do what I do.  

   Can I truly be grateful for the beauty of an event if I cannot see that event for what it truly is? Can I really know the joy of writing if I do not experience it free of external benefits? Can I strip away my dual motives? Can I create for the sake of creation and not because it will make you think I'm cooler than I really am?

   I believe that fulfillment comes from doing what you do to the best of your ability. Is it possible to give your best to anything you do if you do not experience what you do pure of what it will grant you from someone else?

   I changed my moniker from Ragged ( a story for later ) to Latsum - a latin compound meaning "to be Gratitude." Can I truly embody gratefulness if I do not know what it means to enjoy and love myself just because it's good to be me, good to do what I do?  

   To be perfectly honest I'm having a hard time asking those questions with out hoping it will make you read my blog more.  This may be a tougher road than I had anticipated.

-Joe (Latsum)