Monday, August 13, 2012
I started thinking today about why I want to blog (and why I never do).
I love reading blogs by other people. I love learning more about things that interest me, and blogs can be a great way to do this. However, I do prefer personal blogs to corporate blogs. For example, I read Apartment Therapy, and I love it. I've learned a lot and been exposed to beautiful things I would have otherwise perhaps never heard of. However, I'm not attached to AT. If I go away on vacation, I don't read all the posts when I get back. Sometimes I skim through the titles to see if anything interests me, but usually I just clear my feed and start over.
My favorite blog right now is Young House Love. This blog is also about home decorating things, but it's much more personal. Most posts are about what the couple (The Petersiks) are doing around their house. They give DIY ideas and budget friendly ideas and then sometimes talk about what they had for dinner or why they cloth diaper. It's much more engaging than Apartment Therapy, and even if I have no use for the project that day, or even if I don't like the result, I love to read each and every post. I like to know that they think kinda like me and have a similar style to what I imagine my style would be if I were ever organized enough to have "style."
So I love blogs, and I'm capable of writing (the fact that my school gave me a diploma in Journalism is proof-ish of that). So why don't I?
I want to be interesting. I want the world to be fascinated by what I do. I want to write about the way I vacuum my floors and have you all falling over yourselves to tell me that I'm talented or brilliant or that you like the color I painted my toenails. I have trouble updating my blog because I blog for my readers. And for that to be a lasting motivation, I have to actually have readers. Which I'm pretty sure I don't.
But I still love the idea of blogging. When I was a kid I kept diaries. I still have them, and when I found them and started reading through them I was so embarrassed that I thought (much less wrote) the things that I did. I was immature and silly and awkward, and I wanted to go and burn those diaries so that no one could ever find them and read them. But then I remembered that I was in fifth grade. And in fifth grade you're supposed to be immature and silly and awkward. And when I wasn't searching for matches I realized that all those awkward things brought back memories that otherwise may have been lost forever.
I wish I had kept a diary when Dave and I were dating. I have no written record of how I felt when he asked me out, or where we went for dinner on our seventh date. And I wish I did. There were so many memories and feelings involved in those years that may now be gone forever, and it makes me so sad. I have no written record of planning my wedding, I was too busy planning it to take five minutes to write down how excited I was. And now I realize that we have been married for two years and I am 23 years old, and I may someday forget the beauty of being a newlywed.
So maybe someday I'll look back at this blog and think how silly I was, and maybe I'll wish I had never written it. (It is quite likely I'll wish I had never published it). But maybe if I decide to blog just for me, I'll be able to remember some of the silly little things that make this part of my life special. Maybe if I forget that I'm in between life stages and stop looking for interesting things to happen, I'll remember what it feels like to be 23, graduated, married and a little silly.
Maybe that will be enough to keep me writing.