Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about this blog and whether I should continue writing it (or, rather, continue publishing what I write.) I won’t go into too much detail (mainly so as not to bore anyone,) but the main thing that has left me questioning my blogging is the fact that it recently occurred to me, through a few different means, that blogging could be a form of pride and self-absorption. Before this, I’d really never considered it before, but some things have led me to do some soul-searching (one of these days I’m going to realize that introspection is rarely very helpful) and I’ve been asking myself: “what are the things in my life that could be considered ‘me’ centered?”
How about a forum in which I’m constantly sharing my thoughts, my experiences, my feelings, etc.? In that sense blogging could certainly be somewhat prideful and narcissistic.
But then yesterday, I read something that really impacted me. It’s from a book called A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, (Jennifer Fulwiler recently wrote an article about this book that made me go straight to Amazon.com and order it, and even after just a few chapters I’ve already been tremendously blessed by it. I highly recommend this book!) When recounting his experiences with writing a movie based on his memoir, he says:
You’d think it wouldn’t be a stretch for me to write a movie about my memoir. I’d written the memoir, after all. But I didn’t like thinking about myself anymore. You get tired of thinking about yourself all the time when you’re a writer. Or at least when you write the kind of books I write. It gets wearisome, all the bellyaching and feeling and thinking about the world and how you interact with it. Everything’s a mirror when you’re a writer; the computer monitor is a mirror. Who thinks they are so important they need to write books about themselves? Who are these people who write about themselves, and how did I become one of them?
In reading this, it was as if God reached down, gave me a great big hug, and said “blog on, daughter, blog on.” My blog is, in many ways, a mirror. A mirror that has grown me and stretched me and humbled me in ways I don’t think anything else could. Is it self-centered? Yes. Is that a bad thing? Not necessarily.
Why do I write?
I write in hopes that others may be able to glean from my mistakes.
I write in hopes that others may be able to glean from the things that God has taught me.
I write as a way to connect.
I write as a way to express myself.
I write because I think better “on paper” than in my head.
I write because I want to remember.
I write because I think my children will appreciate and enjoy looking back and seeing my struggles and successes, and hearing about the things that God has taught me throughout both my life and theirs.
I write because I’m a writer. I don’t have the best grammar or spelling or punctuation, but I am a writer. Paper and ink, keyboards and word documents make me happy. I could spend a small fortune in Staples and I derive more pleasure than anyone I know from buying a new spiral notebook and a set of pens. I’m a writer – I feel more comfortable in front of a blank page than a set of eyes and ears. I am more at ease with emails than with phone calls. I am more capable of expressing myself with the written word than the spoken. I’m a writer – it’s what I do and a huge part of who I am.
And so, I write.
Not everything I write is powerful or life-changing or helpful or even worthy of being expressed. But I write because it’s who I am. And I post what I write because I want to share my heart and, for now at least, it’s something I enjoy.