I started serial blogging as a teenager. I say serial because I would start one, get bored or embarrassed, abandon it and months later come crawling back to start another. There’s always been something curiously alluring about this form of life-writing.
I guess it’s because once you’ve put something out there, you can’t really take it back. By hitting “publish”, you’re saying: “I’ve thought this through enough to tell you about it right now.” It’s exciting because of its immediacy. But it’s frightening because you might change your mind about what you’ve written.
This is what I love about blogging. It’s not like the other forms of writing I do, where I feel like I need to complete a thought before I share it. I feel like I can blog the way I live, open to new possibilities, willing to be convinced otherwise, embracing the transition.
Perhaps that’s why I’d never stuck it out with a blog until now. Before I’d blog about whatever struck my fancy, without any particular focus because I was too private to blog about my writing or music but no other experience was big enough to keep me going.
Then I got pregnant and found that motherhood is a pretty expansive idea. It was enough to get me blogging and, sixteen months later, I’m still here tapping away at these keys, hoping to give the internet something worth reading but, mostly, thinking out loud.
I’ve found, as a mother, that I need to be so open to having my mind changed about things. As my daughter grows, I grow. My blog mirrors that. I can’t help thinking that even as my life experience affects my blog, my blogging affects my experience of motherhood.
Who’d have thought that deciding to build your own website could define this process so thoroughly.
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