Why I Blog
I used to come here excitedly every day and empty my head of ALL THE THOUGHTS. Or drop some silly nonsense. Or just leave a meme or something. I loved coming here and having my own space to leave things that mattered to me. And I used to have a small (tiny) audience. Friends I'd made on a couple of community boards. The odd passer-by might leave a comment on a rare occasion.
I went through a brief period in the "blog boom" where I thought I would try to build this little space into a money-maker. I was inspired by the big money making blogs I'd been reading and thinking I could maybe follow their tips to build this little space into a full time job.
Nope.
Didn't happen.
Just as in life, my little piece of the blog-o-sphere is still largely unnoticed and I'm not unhappy about that. When I think of some of the things I've written here? Yeah. It's such a blessing to not have to really worry about my mother or whoever finding it and being mortified.
At least I hope not.
Anyway, you (whoever "you" are...anyone or no one. that's okay) might be wondering why I even bother. Why keep up with it if nobody's reading?
The simple answer is, "I read it."
It's the best, most blunt and honest archive of the past ten years of my life. Ten. Stinkin' years. (I wish I'd thought to do some big tenth anniversary deal but I only just now realized that my blogiversary was Aug. 4th. And this is another reason why I'd suck at being a professional blogger.) Ten years of highs and lows and celebrations and mourning. Ten years of hating September, loathing change, adapting to change, panicking, cracking jokes, being depressed, trying to lose weight, gaining weight, seeing babies born and celebrating their birthdays. Ten years of photographs and short stories and more often than not--utter nonsense.
Just the other day, while preparing to write Lyssa's 8th birthday post, I went back to my archives and read through previous birthday celebrations. It's better than a photo album because the memories are written down. This blog reminds me of things I'd forgotten. Shows me how much (or how little!) I've changed and grown up.
When I started this blog ten years ago, I'd just gone through the biggest upheaval of my life up to that point and though those memories may be a little fuzzy, all I have to do is go back and read about it and sit in wonder and snicker at my 26-year-old self and say, "If only you'd known..."
I write this blog for me. I have written for an audience in the past, yes. But now? I write it for me. My past self, my present self and my future self. And if blogger still exists when I'm eighty, maybe I'll print it all out and give it to my sisters' grandchildren.
Or maybe not.
haha
I went through a brief period in the "blog boom" where I thought I would try to build this little space into a money-maker. I was inspired by the big money making blogs I'd been reading and thinking I could maybe follow their tips to build this little space into a full time job.
Nope.
Didn't happen.
Just as in life, my little piece of the blog-o-sphere is still largely unnoticed and I'm not unhappy about that. When I think of some of the things I've written here? Yeah. It's such a blessing to not have to really worry about my mother or whoever finding it and being mortified.
At least I hope not.
Anyway, you (whoever "you" are...anyone or no one. that's okay) might be wondering why I even bother. Why keep up with it if nobody's reading?
The simple answer is, "I read it."
It's the best, most blunt and honest archive of the past ten years of my life. Ten. Stinkin' years. (I wish I'd thought to do some big tenth anniversary deal but I only just now realized that my blogiversary was Aug. 4th. And this is another reason why I'd suck at being a professional blogger.) Ten years of highs and lows and celebrations and mourning. Ten years of hating September, loathing change, adapting to change, panicking, cracking jokes, being depressed, trying to lose weight, gaining weight, seeing babies born and celebrating their birthdays. Ten years of photographs and short stories and more often than not--utter nonsense.
Just the other day, while preparing to write Lyssa's 8th birthday post, I went back to my archives and read through previous birthday celebrations. It's better than a photo album because the memories are written down. This blog reminds me of things I'd forgotten. Shows me how much (or how little!) I've changed and grown up.
When I started this blog ten years ago, I'd just gone through the biggest upheaval of my life up to that point and though those memories may be a little fuzzy, all I have to do is go back and read about it and sit in wonder and snicker at my 26-year-old self and say, "If only you'd known..."
I write this blog for me. I have written for an audience in the past, yes. But now? I write it for me. My past self, my present self and my future self. And if blogger still exists when I'm eighty, maybe I'll print it all out and give it to my sisters' grandchildren.
Or maybe not.
haha
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