Starting a blog has been something I have considered for years. I am continuously fascinated by the concepts of blogs, twitter, Instagram, any form of internet connection with friends, family, and complete strangers. Honestly, the entire concept seems ridiculous.
Don’t get me wrong, I read several blogs. Checking on the wellbeing of complete strangers is as much a part of my morning ritual as my large coffee. I’m excited to see what they are doing every day. Have they tried a new recipe? How are they styling those leather pants they bought? What adorable thing did their child say today?
More than just being curious about what they do, I am disappointed when they don’t post. Sundays seem to be the worst. No one updates on Sunday. I am left, coffee mug still full, frustrated that my friends haven’t told me what they have done recently. It doesn’t seem to matter that we don’t actually know each other. It still feels as if they have a duty to tell me, a stranger who never even comments on their blog, what is going on in their life.
It’s as though they are characters in a novel that is still being written. Each post is a new chapter, telling me the story of this person. The events of their daily lives are things I could do, if I wanted to. When a tutorial or new recipe is posted, it’s a link to the reality they live in, allowing me to bring it into my world as well. Even when I try their favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe, the same smells wafting through my home as they recently smelled, it still seems as though I am reading a story, something that didn’t actually happen. These bloggers, they are both real and not real at the same time.
There is something oddly appealing about that to me. It makes me want to join in, to become a character in this virtual world.
Before starting this blog I was certain I would have plenty to write about on a regular basis. After all, I am a writer, of a sort. If fact I was worried I would have too much to say. What if I was unable to whittle my writing down to one post a day? Over the last few weeks, everything I did, I could hear the blog post forming in my head. Suddenly my workout was the most fascinating program ever. My tuna salad was a genius idea everyone should consider for his or her lunch. My cleaning schedule was exciting enough to inspire others. Even my clutter was fascinating, as each piece that was left out has purpose.
I was going to have to plan my blog post carefully, making some sort of schedule. I could only write about craft projects once a week; the same could be said of my cooking, cleaning, exercise, travel plans, and writing. After all, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm my many, many readers with too much. I’m sure they are all already scrambling to copy the little I give them. I wouldn’t want them to make too many changes at once.
Sitting down to write an actual blog post, I am reminded of reality. I have precisely zero readers. This is my second post, and I have yet to say anything of value. It may be months before I have said anything valuable enough to justify a single reader who chooses to return later.
Attempting to write a post, I am blocked with one thought; why me? Why would anyone choose to read something I wrote? I am not teaching anything. I am not imparting any specific wisdom others need. Who am I to think others need to read any of my inane thoughts?
I am no one special. I’m just a normal girl who was, once upon a time, from California. I’m someone who married at 18. I’m someone who had their first child at 19, their second at 25. I sew things sometimes. I write stories that are not read by others, yet. I have finished two marathons, four half marathons, two 10k’s, and countless 5k’s but have never actually trained properly for any of them. I’m someone who has struggled to discover who they are, who still struggles to know if they like that person.
I suppose in the end, it is simple. Buddha was once asked if he was a god, and his answer was to tell them that no, he was not. What he was, was awake.
Am I someone special? Do I have an important message everyone should hear? No, absolutely not. But I am alive, and that is something that should be celebrated.