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