Why On Earth Would Anyone Want to Read My Blog?
This question was posed by my southern 82 year old mother when I told her I was writing a blog. The fact that she knew what a blog was was a bit of a shock. After getting an Ipad a few years ago, she proudly called me to say, “I’m on The Google!”
Damn. Here I was feeling pretty groovy - at 57 stepping into big old scary BlogWorld, when WHAM…Who the hell do I think I am?
1. I have obvious shortcomings as a writer. (I blatantly and gleefully disregard rules of grammar when it suits me and abhorr spelllcheck)…
2. I lack anything of significance to write about. (I have not brokered a peace agreement with Syria; survived 20 years on a remote South Pacific island by converting native cannibals to the wonders of going vegan; circumnavigated the globe on a pogo stick; or raised anyone from the dead that I can recall.)
More likely (I choose to believe this or I will go insane), her question is seeped deep in southern tradition. There are only three reasons for a good lady’s name to appear in print — 1. when she is born, 2. when she is married and 3. when she dies. (Having accomplished the first two, I am in no hurry to achieve the third.)
Other than that, you must have done something pretty darned foolish to have your dirty laundry flung about for all to see — You embezzled gazillions and buried the cash in your ex’s backyard; you tipped your boyfriend over the rail on a Caribbean cruise (Oopsy daisy); or you formed a cult naming yourself as Grand Most High Supreme Poobah (Membership is now open!).
So, back to that nagging question — Why would anyone give a hoot about what I have to say? Maybe they don’t. But I know that I want to say “something”, be it inane, irritating or certifiably insane. Because sharing the struggle and baring the challenges is one way to tackle the realities of growing older and growing up. It’s like riding The Zipper at the State Fair, hearing the bloodcurdling screams of others below and above me also strapped in a rattling cage-of-death, I know that I am not alone.
While I’d certainly prefer to fly away like Peter Pan or bury my head in the sand, there comes a time when life throws a big old cauldron of ickiness in your face. You have two choices — React or be drenched in the goo.
Blogging can’t possible rate up there with the big three — birth, marriage and death — but it carries a familiar whiff of the same perfume — with a new start, connecting to others and putting the past to bed.
And I don’t think women deserve to have just three reasons to toot their horns. We have quite a bit to say and do and think and feel. It might not be socially acceptable in some circles - and that’s what makes it all the more delicious.