June 10, 2004
From today's Liz Smith:
ENDQUOTE: "An unknown address, friends they knew before they were famous, and people who love them enough to tell them they are full of s- - -."
That's Sharon Stone, telling Premiere's Brantley Bardin the three things every movie queen must have.
Good advice for drama queens of the non-movie variety too.
It gets really personal here. So you shouldn't continue, because it doesn't get better.
It's never easy to hear and accept criticism. How do you listen, really understand what is being said, so you can do something to change, instead of taking it personally? How do you not shut down, blocking out everything, including the truth, in order to escape the pain of hard words?
So I've been told recently that I'm full of it. That the person here in this space isn't nice. That I am using the blog as a "substitute for a personal relationship." I didn't think I was; but then again, I've been fairly diligent about updating here when I could've easily been on the phone to see how things were going, especially when it mattered.
I convinced myself that people I knew, who knew about this place, could choose to visit or not. I tried not to dwell much on who came to visit, particularly if they chose to leave. It was easy to do because it's hard to know who doesn't care for this, unless they bother to tell me.
It's too late now to wish that I had been more circumspect, retained more of a separate identity between this persona and the person behind the keyboard. But even if I had, the criticism still stands: I "act smug and snarky and too-cool-for-school." Sure, this could be said of the average Jane or Joe blogger and one can just blow it off as a generalization. But it's different hearing this from a friend. Former friend, I mean. I guess when you're going to let someone have it, you bring in everything else you ever wanted to say, because you've written them off from here on out. But I did ask, and now I know where I failed. That's something, I guess.
This is incidental, however, to the situation in which I'm really at fault. It's true - I really, really blew it. I glossed on the surface, caught up in distractions. I said painful things without even realizing it. I wasn't around when I was needed. I'm beginning to see that this is something of a pattern. Now I'm having to face up to this, having known the truth in the back of my mind. I'm finding out that there isn't always a second chance, that forgiveness doesn't have to be an option. No amount of explanation or apology will ever be enough. Having begun the first cut, I am now cut loose. Excised.