Humblebragging

~Unpopular opinion time (followed by positive vibes)~

I think the word "blessed" is overused.
There I said it.

To feel "blessed" or "grateful" should be celebrated and recognized but to place a hashtag before it to accompany the most mundane of things cheapens it. To proclaim how blessed you feel ALL of the time makes you a humblebragger, which is almost worst than just plain ole bragging.
All that being said, I'm feeling pretty grateful, or even, dare I say, blessed for my Creative Colloquy adventure.

Now, to begin the humblebragging.

I reflect on CC almost obsessively and with the one year anniversary behind us, that obsessiveness has been heightened to a whole new level.

After party goodness occurred at local digs, Doyle's Public House. Those who chose to follow us down to continue the dialogue over drinks were welcomed by this. I didn't even expect a banner. How rad is that?

I imagine we all daydream about that journey, that project, that accomplishment, that thing we yearn to undertake. So much so, sometimes the daydreaming is all we are courageous enough to do.

Since I was just a wee one, writing and words has been a part of my life. The first story I remember writing was in the 1st or 2nd grade. It was about the Oregon Trail, from the perspective of a family's rocking chair being lugged around on the journey. It had a tumble or two, hell people even got sick and died in this epic adventure and from that time I was constantly writing. Angst-y teen prose, dark poems about the Holocaust (which the Language Arts teacher suggested be in the school paper, only to have the kids on the committee decline it for it's dark nature and go with something of mine more friendly to their fragile sensibilities). I was forced to read assigned writing projects out loud in class, which was the last thing I wanted to do.
The point is, I loved to write. I still love to write, though shadows of doubt linger at my lack of skill or creativity, even when I get to call writing my profession.

While I doubt myself, often, I play as an advocate to the literary arts. Nudging those who admire words as I do to remove themselves from the solitary action of writing and shed themselves of the protective cloak of anonymity by sharing their stories. Placing their dark fonts to the bright light of a cyberpage and then suggesting they take it a step to the next level by breathing life into those words just daring to speak them.
Out loud.
Into a microphone.
In a room full of their peers.

And every time it happens without fail my heart swells with, ugh....yes, gratitude. I feel an immense pride in what CC has become, not just for me and the opportunity to do work that I love while meeting the robust literary talent in the area and learning to hone my own craft but for what it is for those that come each month, whatever reasons that bring them. I'm proud that CC has managed to develop in the last year and help create a sense of community among a group of folks that can often be haunted by the same afflictions~the instinctual need that compels them to tell their stories and all of the side effects that comes with it.

Thank you to everyone who has been a part of this journey. You literati. You listeners. You supporters from afar.
You all have a little chunk of my heart. I appreciate you something fierce.