I’m not blind, you know, so I know very well that there are folks out there who are posting blogs three or four times per week. And don’t think that doesn’t make me feel terribly inadequate, when the most I can manage is maybe a blog posting every, oh, three decades or so.
What does that say about me? Or more importantly, what do I think that says about me?
We all write differently. Me, I’ve never been able to just hammer out a blog and post it. I know people can do that. My problem – and believe me when I tell you that I am loathe to admit this – is that I am worried about putting up something bad. Or dumb. Or embarrassingly bad and dumb.
To preempt this embarrassment, this is my defense mechanism, which I use so often on Liz that she could lip-sync along with me:
“Oh, that blog I posted? Yeah, I just wrote it in, like six minutes. I didn’t even think about it. I don’t even really remember writing it because I wrote it right after I fell off the roof when I was up there cleaning the gutter. Most of it I wrote on the way down, actually, and I polished it up as I was trying to regain feeling in my lower body. So it’s probably not a great entry, but remember that I didn’t spend much time on it.”
The truth is that I spent about a week on it, sweating blood and banging my forehead with a boot.
What’s the point here? Well, the point is that I really do want to write more. I want to get rid of whatever it is that is holding me back – probably embarrassment. Probably the fear that people won’t like my writing. But how is that any different whether I only post ever month or whether I do it more regularly? I’m still going to be worried that people won’t like what I write.
So here’s what I’m thinking. I’m thinking I might just start writing more. Or maybe I won’t, but I at least want to get into the mindset of not being worried what I’m putting out there. I’ve been writing this blog since August of 2004, believe it or not. I was worried about people not liking my writing then, too, but I wrote in that travel blog a couple of times a week, rain or shine.
That blog – because I wrote so much, because I cared what I wrote but at least kept writing consistently – became a book called Little Princes. And that book has done pretty well for itself. The point is this: good things come out of blogging. And while I resist New Year’s resolutions, I believe that it’s possible that I might try to write more.
Even as I write that, I know I’m going to break it. But at least, just for this one moment, I can almost believe I really will do that.
And like anything else in life, if I have enough of these single, naive moments of optimism, moments where I’m living what I believe, if I can string enough of them together, then life can be pretty great.