“I’m starting a blog.”
As I say it, I get a feeling in my innards like the first time I tried to say “I love you.” There’s an air of excitement, but I’m not sure what the words coming out of my mouth actually mean. I feel like I’m a child stepping into the shoes of adults, trying something silly with reckless abandon.
The notion of a “blogger” conjures up an image of a self-indulgent millennial with nothing better to do. It’s like a podcast, only with a smaller barrier to entry. That said, there are some amazing podcasts I listen to — and some amazing blogs I read!
Why then does saying “I have a blog” feel so icky?
I think because literally anyone with an internet connection can do it, the word has been diluted by adjectives: “Mommy” blogger; “DIY” blogger; or my personal favorite “Lifestyle” blogger.
If I’m being honest, I think my discomfort stems from fear, as well as one nagging question: “Why would anyone give a damn what I have to say?”
That’s a relevant question. People may not care at all. And what is an outlet with no audience — a journal? (While that would probably garner a lot more clicks, trust me, most things in my journal will not be shared here.) If not a journal, then maybe this is just an online database of meanderings from someone not using his time wisely.
The reality is this:
I care what people think.
I wish I didn’t. Sometimes I act as though I don’t. But I do. A little personal reflection (and online testing) revealed that fact to me — though I knew that before personally reflecting and taking online tests. According to my enneagram, I’m a 3 (Performer) with a 4 (Romantic) wing. Meaning I have a need to express myself, but I’m very sensitive to criticism. Great.
You see, I primarily consider myself an artist. This comes with a weird juxtaposition of extroversion against introversion. On one hand, I have the need to express my ideas to the world; on the other, I really enjoy being inside my head (when all is going well in there). I like thinking, pondering, questioning, and creating alone. But again, that all needs to come out somehow. In the words of Sigmund Freud:
“The artist has… an introverted disposition and has not far to go to become neurotic.”
Obvious fears about putting myself out there aside, it does seem a little masturbatory, doesn’t it? Here I am trying to cut through the noise of the internet because “I have a voice and something to say!” Whatever happened to just doing work, not being an asshole, and living your life without the need to share everything?
The sharing culture
Since I’ve gone down this rabbit hole in my head, let me say this: I’m uncomfortable with the culture of sharing and social media. I really am. And the irony is, when asked about that very subject, I respond with the one thing I fear will be said to me about writing a blog: “Who gives a shit?”
I don’t care about your baby or your dog or your vacation or your wedding or your lunch or your workout. And I certainly don’t need real-time updates about your life and your thoughts. What’s more, I don’t have time for the people who do care.
And yet here I am asking them to. Maybe I’m a self-indulgent millennial after all.
All I can say is that I’m going to try to utilize the positive aspects of the sharing culture. Sharing meaningful things, things that may connect people, or at least things that have the potential to bring people joy.
And so… a blog.
I do consider myself a writer, among the other things I do, to which I think the skill of writing is an integral part. The only way to get better at something is to do it. And I should do it. I want to do it, and no one is stopping me. To quote the wonderful Elizabeth Gilbert:
“Do it. Who cares? It’s your birthright as a human being, so do it with a cheerful heart.”
And so I shall. And I will do my best to bury any narcissistic tendencies that make my brain spasm when I wonder if people are reading. I hope you do. I hope you enjoy it. And I even hope you share.