Why does one blog? Obviously there are varying interests, topics, niches, and reasons to start a blog; but why does one blog? What is it about these interests that makes one take the time, the energy, the risk?
In the last few weeks, I’ve written several blogs. Blogs about issues with my car. Blogs about a rough start to the semester. Blogs about being flooded by Isaac and crashing my car into a mailbox in an attempt to get away from alligators. Blogs about blogging, or lack thereof. Blogs about the HOA Nazi with a Napoleon complex terrorizing my community. Blogs about being afraid to let go and move on. Blogs about throwing fear aside and taking a leap of faith. Lots of topics, lots of reasons, but none of which were reason enough to… Speak.
In May I accepted the “postaweek” challenge and had been faithfully posting. And then a series of “unfortunate” events became increasingly catastrophic. I will spare you the details, but after the aforementioned HOA terrorist with an overwhelming sense of self-importance unlawfully had my roommate’s car towed, I had my head-spinning exorcism moment. The flowery gloves came off. The eloquent quill was down. And my “all things work together for my good” attitude was having the daisies choked out of it in a corner somewhere.
I was angry! I wanted someone to hear me roar. Yet, I was tired of hearing myself. Sure, it was cathartic to put pen to paper (or keyboard to virtual notepad) my feelings, frustrations, and lessons about what was going on in my life. But, I could only imagine the resounding gong of my woes boring or annoying everyone who read them. I mean, how many ways could I express that I was going through a difficult season of life? How much creative writing would it take to explain the lessons in my experiences? Could the world really handle any more cryptic wording about my lost dreams and broken heart? One look at TLC will prove that the world’s capacity for ___ is limitless; but I was not about to be the contributor of such torture. So, I remained silent.
And then something else happened. A friend commented, on more than one occasion, about my virtual silence. I explained that I actually had a few posts brewing, some of which were inspired by her, but that I simply couldn’t find a reason to post anything. To which she replied, “Well your blog isn’t about me. Blogging isn’t about the reader. We read to get the writer’s perspective. And what a wonderful perspective it is you have.”
This was not the first time I took a hiatus from the blogosphere. It was not the first time I worried I was becoming an endless drone. But I’ve been thinking a lot about that statement for the past few days. I thought about it until I could answer my question: why does one blog? When my story is told, I don’t want bits and pieces cut out because it was boring or repetitive. I don’t want to edit seasons of footage because I’m hard-headed and slow to learn. I want my gracious accomplishments listed right next to my glorious failures! I want people to know that I fought hard and gave up quickly. I want people to know what made my belly roll and my head turn. I want people to know that I took risks and cowered in fear. I want people to know that my daisy-loving, Christ-honoring perspective suffered devastating blows. When my story is told, I want it to be complete – whatever my reason for blogging may be at that season. I want the writer’s perspective to be true.