do not follow the lone wolf

Something had been gnawing at her since she started blogging a few months ago. When she began and had no followers, there were no expectations, no worries. But then the numbers went from zero to several thousand. A very miniscule number in the blogosphere, yes. But to her, it became a burden, a burden of having to please people.

She was not a people pleaser. Far from it. She had a strong aversion to being liked, because she had learned its inevitable path leads to contempt. She thrived on her independence, on the lone wolf spirit she believed she possessed as her birth rite. She liked being anonymous, invisible; for with it came power and freedom. The power and freedom to do and write whatever moved her.

She saw each follower as a fly hook being cast into her flesh, pulling her under water. As she clung to the boardwalk of self-determination, she had to choose whether to succumb to the tugging, and be pulled under to an ocean of mediocre but non-offensive writing. Or she could have the hooks tear through her flesh, leaving her bloodied and battered, but free to write whatever she desired, with no fear.

She chose the latter. She chose freedom. Freedom to offend, to shock, to amaze, to heal, to hurt, to laugh, to cry. No guilt, no regret, no apology, no looking back. The lone wolf is a spiritual and majestic creature. Its strength lies in its independence, its fierceness and its allegiance to its own code of survival.

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