It's About Nothing.

What does it mean to be a writer? How about a blogger? Does being a blogger make you a writer? Not always. A fair amount of bloggers seem to be curators of web content.  Some other bloggers are copywriters-- pushing products and writing reviews. I remember, back in the wee days of the Internet and web blogs, being a blogger meant being brave and pouring your little soul out to whoever came to visit your corner of the Internet. Some of those people are still around; a lot of them have taken their blogs private. I understand that-- it's a much bigger World Wide Web than it used to be. It's a little scary to write for an audience made up of people you know nothing about--that lurk and troll and maybe leave not-so-nice comments.
So if I call myself a writer, and I fancy myself a blogger, where do those two things intersect and at what point should they not intersect? If I'm not willing to pour my soul out, or I'm not brave enough to pour my soul out to everyone in the free world, then why do I have a blog? What's the point? I guess when I first started blogging, I wanted to share a little bit about my life living in Prague, and whatever else my precocious 20 year old self thought was so profound. (I'd give anything to find that blog again... I don't even remember what it was called, just that it was one of those website builder-things called Homestead, which is still around, unbelievably but seems to be more for enterprise users now.)
Then, my blog was about teaching, or that was the idea anyway. Then my blog was about nothing, everything and nothing.  I've had blogs on and off for the past ten years but none of them really went anywhere and I know that it's because of my own ambivalence, my existentialist blogging crisis. There's always been a why, and yet I find myself coming back again and again. For what? Am I talking just for the sake of hearing myself talk? I can do all this in a journal, and I do except that most of what I write in my journal would be too risky to share here. I mean, it would be a big risk on my part, baring my soul to who? You? No offense but who are you?

Sometimes, sharing and re-reading what I've written is like hearing my voice on video...it makes me cringe and say, "God, that's what I sound like!?"

The fact is, if I wanted to have a blog of substance, I have so many things I could write about but it all involves other people and that's where I get wary. What are the limits of sharing, especially when it comes to my children and my family? If I can't get deep and personal out of respect for those closest to me, then my blogging is not genuine, is it? I could write about these things in general and abstract ways but who wants to read that? Not me. I hate vagueblogging! I want details! I know you want details, too! But I worry a lot about what people think. Not just any people but the people I know...you know, IN REAL LIFE. That I see every day or most days. I'm not a touchy-feely person and attention embarrasses me, no matter how positive. Unless it's my birthday or I'm having a baby. In which case, LAVISH attention on me, please!

It's 10:40. This is the latest I've been up in a long, long while. Yes, while I've been away from blogging, I've been crawling into bed by 10, most nights by 9:30. I'm exhausted. My sleep is shot to hell thanks to Micah, who is actually not a bad sleeper but still, the interruptions are taking it's toll on me. I'm looking forward to summer vacation, and not having to be anywhere in the mornings or get anyone ready for anything.
Speaking of summer, it's not nearly here and apparently, neither is Spring but it was nice enough today for this:

I'm going to take this picture and put it in my [metaphorical] pocket and think about it later this week when we get slammed by a Nor'Easter (rumor has it).