Before I started this post, I threw the words out to the universe: “Why do people write?” There were 118,000,000 answers. Just for fun I also asked, “Why do people read?” (135,000,000 answers) and, “Why do people read blogs?” (145,000,000).
Years ago I was dusting the coffee table in the family room, admiring its rich colored wood and the little bead of gold that trimmed the glass. I was having a conversation in my head about this table, as if I were in my furniture store years earlier detailing its craftsmanship to a captivated customer. I was telling a story.
This was the moment I realized I did that a lot. I was constantly writing a script for whatever chore was at hand – whatever thoughts were swimming in my head. The realization brought with it no great life change….. until one year ago today when I started this blog.
My schedule is thrown out the window while I pursue this topic or that…. and again on other days when there seems to be no topic worth pursuing at all. The agony of choosing the perfect picture thrills me, and deciding if it should be on the right, the left, or in the center.
For a few days in November when I discovered NaBloPoMo, you tolerated a post finding your email every day…. and no one scolded me when I announced that it just wasn’t my style and I quit.
Dozens of drafts are saved with only one word changed – “the” changed to “a”; a new paragraph here instead of there. The presentation is part of the story in my world.
The words I wrote About me say, “If I were to hope to affect one reader, I would wish to pass along enough motivation and confidence through my writing to encourage him or her to pursue their own passion, whatever it may be.”
So, the story in my heart is one that hopes to motivate, encourage someone. A story that will prevent others from the misguided mistakes I have randomly made, or to benefit from the word I decided to research on a whim.
It would be a lie if I said my attempt to alienate myself from the Stat chart had been successful. Some days I tell my husband it would take only one click to erase the entire blog and then I would be done with this torture. He tells me, “That would be a shame.” So I write again, having reminded myself that I write because I so thoroughly enjoy the process of doing so.
There is one last admission before I close. I appreciate you. The readers that I know, the ones that I don’t.
Some of us recognize each other only by our gravatar photo, which we both know tells so little about who we are in the first place, while others are never seen nor heard.
On this, the one year anniversary of my love, thank you so very much for reading. May there be many happy stories to come.