Blogging is a weird medium. It's rather narcissistic, completely voyeuristic, and usually unrealistic.
I write for me. To keep track of stories and to stand in place of a hard copy journal. I write because I've got opinions and because some things are just too funny or strange not to share. I'm not kidding myself about my audience (which I'm pretty sure consists almost entirely of my family and a few friends), but still I find it fun to post things to the digital void.
I'll say it again, though. Blogging is weird.
When you have a bad day at work, you don't write about it because it would be unfair to publicly post negative things about co-workers. Instead, you write about how you had a momentary lapse of judgement when you were cutting jalepenos, rubbed your eye, and spent the next hour squinting out alligator tears while you cooked dinner.
When you are feeling depressed or angry or annoyed, you don't write about it because it makes you sound morose and ungrateful. Intead, you write about the shock of having that homeless guy mess his pants while you're sitting next to him on the metro.
When you're excited about something it comes off as bragging. When you're sporatically grammar-inept you seem dumb as a brick. It's really hard to find a balance and still truthfully represent who you are.
But I've found that there are great things about blogging, too.
I met up with Jane for lunch yesterday at Shake Shack. She was in town for a few days with her husband and mother in law and I practially coerced her into meeting up with me. We met on study abroad in 2006 in Paris. Our schedules didn't overlap much, so we sadly didn't get to know each other that well back then. BUT, we've followed each others' blogs through the years and have had a great time commenting back and forth. [She's a fantastic writer, by the way. Check out her blog.]
It just kills me that we didn't hang out more in our carefree college days. It's definitely an incentive for me to be less shy - think of all the friendships I may have missed out on due to social anxiety and silence.
When her husband walked into Shake Shack yesterday I felt like a crazy stalker because I immediately knew who he was even though I'd never met him before (another slightly creepy aspect of blogging). It was so fun to catch up after all this time and still feel like we'd never missed a beat.
Sometimes you just feel really connected to someone through their writing, you know? Maybe it's their cadence, or off-kilter word choice, or their prolific use of parentheticals (I love me some parentheticals), but it just clicks.
And, for now, here end my thoughts on blogging.
I'm off to write a persuasive email to Jane outlining (in detail) all the reason that she and Alex need to move to DC. Wish me luck.