Blogging

I have been dabbling in blogging on and off for more than a decade.

I remember the first time I heard the word.

I thought it was ridiculous.

"Blog," I said with my face shriveled, the word coming out as a balk.

"What does it even mean?" I asked stingingly to no one in particular.

"Blog... So stupid."

I was appalled for some reason. Indignant.

It retrospect it feels like a response of someone who feels threatened.

Fear of change maybe?

Feeling inept as a writer?

Could be.

When I was in the ministry ghost writing for a Pastor, I had a reason to write, something specific to write about and readers based on his popularity, not mine. I was passionate about the topic for the most part though, I had to restrain my own thoughts and opinions. I had to sound like him and express his perception of truth. I was happy to be working, doing something I loved albeit for exploitive wages.

That was 1998.

AOL was king. Flip phones were as good as it got. Facebook didn't exist. Children still played outside. It was a simpler time. Nothing is simple anymore.

People would say, after I'd tell a story, or in response to a too lengthy Facebook post, "You should blog." Then they would send me links to their favorites to show me how simple this blogging thing was. They sent me food blogs and travel blogs and spiritual blogs. I took it all in and tried to process this idea of writing "out there" on the internet.

"What do I even write about?" was the first question which begged for more.

"What do I have to say?"

"What's important to me?"

"Who am I?

Those self examining questions were often followed with more an accusation than a question.

"Who do you think you are that you have anything important to say or that anyone would want to read it."

The chattering doubt would marinate with the taunting of technology and I'd convince myself that I didn't want a stupid ole blog anyway and I'd bury all those dumb questions too, to consider another time.

Time passed, my kids grew a bit, and I went back to work for the first time since I worked at the church. In this new position I found myself on the fringe of a team of creative people. I had never witnessed a group working together the way they did. In the past all work endeavors were based on instructions, authority, expectations of outcomes. Here the expectation was for ideas, insights, and different perspectives. There was no right or wrong - there was only an open atmosphere of supportive comradery working towards a goal. I'm sure musicians experience it when they sit down to jam. Spirit flowing through each instrument individually and then suddenly it merges to become something new and singular in intent. It's magical.

Far from the orderly environment I had grown accustomed to, the sparks flicked around the room, minds lighting up, ideas becoming illuminated. It was like a playground of productive thoughts. There was a unity that didn't elbow others for credit. They were supportive not competitive. For the first time my creative side was valued, they called me an artist and insisted that, if I write, I am a writer. I'd never been able to call myself a writer with any confidence, until the magical team of muses turned the encouragement towards me and near insisted that I begin to blog.

The questions I thought needed to be asked before I began blogging, were answered as I wrote. In the last 11 years I've probably had 6 or 7 different blogs. I don't even remember the names of them or if anyone ever read them. They may be out there on the cybersphere, not having been deactivated, my technical skills still sorely lacking.

Joan Didion said, "I don't know what I think until I write it down." That was it! There were so many other voices in competition between my ears, it was only by releasing words to the page that I could decipher my authentic voice. Freedom to explore my truths and perceptions not as an employees or someones representative. I was just me. No falsity, no pretending to be who I thought I was supposed to be. I wrote because I was compelled to. I put things on page to free up my mind for new thoughts and ideas.

Etta James captured what happens when I write, the integrations of selves.

When I'm performing for the people, I am me, then. I am that little girl who, when she was five years old, used to sing at church. Or I'm that 15-year-old young lady who wanted to be grown and wanted to sing and couldn't wait to be smokin' a cigarette, you know?

There is no compartmentalizing of identity in authentic writing. All the parts of me that had been sequestered because they didn't meet the standards and expectations at the time, have emerged and integrated. To my own self, I am becoming more true.

How do you thank someone for introducing you to yourself? Before whatever is coming next, it felt important to recognize how it began. To give credit to the muses who called me out to a bigger world. To thank them for seeing me, recognizing who I was when I could not see.

I wouldn't be writing here if not for them. They know that.

Some important things changed for me over the years.

I don't care if people get upset with what I have to say anymore.

I don't care if those who knew me from ministry are shocked by my swearing, topics or questioning truths.

I don't care if anyone from Stepford is appalled by my nonconformity or angry for sharing my experiences among them.

I don't care if the grammar police expose me for being the uneducated person that I am.

Once I got past figuring out the technical side, these were some of the ridiculous reasons I gave for not writing.

I accepted that people may not like me, my words, my ideas.

It's that thing after 50 every woman told me about. You just don't care anymore.

Not everyone is my cup of tea either. I have preferences and opinions. Everyone gets to have them. With social media, everyone gets to tell everyone what they think about everything.

That doesn't mean I have to like it or agree with it all, or they with me.

For example, I just learned that a guy named Pete shortened the term Web Log, to blog in 1999. I am glad to know the why, but I still get to believe it's a stupid sounding word.

Blog.