So, its come to this. A blog about blogging. (yes, dear... I can hear you correcting my choice of words. Its really a post about blogging but that doesn't sound nearly as interesting).
Why do I do this? Why would anyone voluntarily serve up their heart and their personality on a virtual platter for anyone and everyone to judge, or enjoy, to appreciate or midunderstand at their own leisure? Without either of us having the additional communication of body language, or any typical componants of reciprocal relationships?
My answer to these questions may or may not be unique to me. They are questions I ask myself, and questions that have been raised in one way or another by friends and readers. Questions of privacy, and I think- questions of why it is that I would choose to make myself so vulnerable in so many ways.
Here's what I think. If you read a personal blog, you do so voluntarily. You are not stuck at a plywood table with a relative known for her halatosis and long renditions about harrowing, or farrowing, or whatever its called. You can come, or you can go. No need to consider social graces. If you stay, and if you read, you will form an opinion. That opinion is YOURS to own. We don't have to agree.
I write. It is like music to me, or poetry, or satisfying therapy. I used to sew for those same reasons, but in my current place in life, I simply can't spend hours with sharp scissors or straight pins. The computer keyboard is accessible. It can be used for five minutes at a time, and never gets misplaced.
The spin-offs have been indescribable. Really.
The sense of loneliness related to working from home has become a non issue. The meeting of minds is rewarding. The confirmation of struggles in life being universal has increased my sense of community.
Recently though, I have noticed myself feel.... Something. Is it fear? I have been thrilled, and mildly unnerved, when people who I never could have imagined would be readers have "come out of hiding" with generous words of encouragement. I have wept after telling conversations that were spawned from some little thing that was published in this spot. I have posted personal things in vague reference to situations in my life and have left out details to respect the privacy of others who are involved. And enough people are now reading that they know exactly of what I speak, even without all the details.
It feels like a sense of responsibility in a way. The more reading and writing that occurs, the greater the possibility of misunderstanding and discord, and conversely, of understanding and can-o-worms opening. (that's a word, I promise). And at the risk of taking myself too seriously- how responsible am I?
Here's where YOU come in. Why do you blog? Why do you read? And what do you think?