I am well aware that my blog is very boring, in general. I don’t have any advertisements. I don’t post YouTube snippets. I very seldom change the look. I don’t try to entertain anybody. I don’t try to be clever. I don’t try to make anybody see things my way. I don’t try to garner visitors or a following. I do go on and on at times about various issues that arise in my life. Probably in too much detail. Definitely in too much detail. Boring to the outsider, boring to myself, but necessary, in a way, to help me work through things. It’s very cheap therapy.
I thought I’d venture out recently, and troll some blogs to see if I could find some in my general area. Thinking I might actually make some friends in my neck of the woods. Real people. Maybe. Eventually. But I didn’t get very far. I kept finding blogs with ads and blogher this and blogher that and things seemed just too commercial for me. I got tired of looking.
I like that I’ve met some bloggers, in real life. I have a small circle. It’s pretentious to call it my circle, but there are a handful of blogs that I read, and even if they have little to say or show from post to post, I am always glad to see what they have to say. Because they’re real people with real faces and real lives, and it’s a warm and comforting thing to be privileged to glimpse into their every-day lives. Every-day struggles. Every-day triumphs. I love every-day life. It’s what real life is. It’s where the meat of the matter is. It’s not entertainment. It’s not glamour. It’s not sales or marketing. It’s not a popularity contest. It’s not business. It’s life. And that’s what I love.
I may not be practiced in this particular craft or that particular form of art, but I love that people share the things that they do.
If I happen to buy something, or make something, it’s a big deal to me. Because it’s above and beyond the basic confines of my normal life. So it’s exciting. To me. And that makes it noteworthy. Boring, yes. Part of my every-day life, yes. Beautiful, yes. To me. And I blog for me.
If I have a gross misunderstanding or miscommunication with someone (usually my husband, of course, because he’s the one I share my life with), it helps me to work through it. Or at least to vent. It doesn’t mean I’m looking for sympathy. Or that I’m looking for anything. Or that my life is falling apart. It’s just an ebb, and I need to get it out. To work it out. To work through it. So it goes on my blog. Because I blog for me.
*I drafted this ages ago, then never posted it. I think I got my feathers all ruffled after reading someone else’s blog in which they commented about being bored with bloggers who seem like they constantly blog about the train wrecks that are their lives. It’s part of that narcissistic nature in which I ridiculously think that everyone should be my friend and in which I think I want and need everyone’s approval, and of course I assumed she was referring to me (as one of the boring, thus dropped, bloggers). Righteous indignation. You should see the other drafts I have in limbo. I’ve (thus far) spared the global public from some of my more lengthy rants! Besides, I’ve put enough space between them that the issues of the moment are long past, and no longer on my mind.