I don't know if you've noticed
(you being the very few readers that peruse this site consistently)
but recently I've been feeling kind of silly about this whole blogging thing.
(And, I've noted from several other bloggers out there, that I'm not the only one.)
I've found myself loathing this little space more and more,
not because of you and your wonderful selves,
but because of me,
and my terrible insecurities.
I started this little blog for my beautiful mom,
so that she could read about the little quirks of my every day.
I wanted to share my life.
I wanted to make her laugh.
I wanted to make you laugh.
And then, well, it got a little hairy.
Difficult things (life things) transpired
and I started to feel quite sad...
I wasn't sure how much of that to share with you all.
Some told me I was desperately depressing to read,
and others told me I wasn't being true to who I was.
I slowly stopped filling pages in my journals,
because it felt like too much work,
started feeling the pressure to put words into this blank space,
inevitably with the hope that someone would validate me,
that someone would love me.
That feels utterly ridiculous to admit.
How did I allow a blog to become another form of pass/fail validation in my life?
It's amazing the things we are capable of when we put our minds to it.
I can't help but notice that blogging,
in its simplest form,
is quite the self-indulgent endeavor.
Why else do we put our thoughts here,
in this public arena,
instead of tucking them away in our small black books
that remain private and untouched by others?
return to my own blank pages I will.
I've missed them.
if you're lucky,
what's left over in my brain may find its way over here to this little blog.
I like you all,
and I like sharing bits and pieces with each of you.
I just don't like the things that I've traded in to do so.