UnBlog My Heart

Blogs are dumb. Seriously.

Who has time to read them, let alone write one? I've had a secret snarky thought for years: If you have enough time to do a blog, maybe you should get a job, because you have too much time on your hands.

Blogging implies a certain vanity, that what "the big I" have to say is so important that loads of random people will want to hear it. There are all these super-achievers out there who post their amazing home remodel before-and-afters...cooks who post their awesome recipes...mommy bloggers who brag on their kids. It kind of makes me sick.

So why am I doing this? Yeah, it's probably hypocritical. And--say it!--I should probably get a job. I know.

Like everything, it's complicated. I guess it comes down to: I have been feeling more and more like I have a voice, and I want to use it.

I don't flatter myself to think that anyone will care to read this. I am not doing it to attract 2-D friends or sponsors. I am thinking of this project as my open journal, a virtual scrapbook where I can celebrate my favorite things and ponder and muse and maybe even post my fabulous brownies recipe or record something great about my kids.

It's my room. I can do whatever I want in it. That's a really liberating thought in a kind of scary way.

It's me shouting in the forest, singing at the top of my lungs, listening for the echo.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.  I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
This is me sounding my barbaric yawp. Thanks, Walt, for giving me the words to express how I feel as I embark upon these empty pages.