“To blog or not to blog” – the question which I have continuously contemplated for years. I have always been a journal writer because I take comfort in writing with pen and paper. I love to watch the ink settle on the page in front of me. I love flipping through my old entries. I love to look at my bookshelf and watch my journals consume more space each year. I find few accomplishments in life more satisfying than completing a journal. My journals are a part of me. They tell my story, but when I write them, I know they are only for my own viewing. My journals are the utmost depiction of who I am, what I believe in, how I have grown over time, and who I want to become. In the pages of my journals, I find comfort because I can be honest with myself and I never feel pressured to impress “my readers” through writing.
While friends and family have insisted that I try blogging as a public form of expression, I anxiously resisted because I felt zero inclination or reason to publish any of my thoughts. I never felt that I had something to say that would be of value – something that other people would actually care to read. I absolutely feared writing passages that other people would find as trivial as I find Facebook statuses which proclaim every play-by-play activity of the day. WHO CARES about reading those?!
A few days ago, I was speaking on the phone with my grandfather who lives in Argentina, along with most of my family. He came to visit my family in Rhode Island last year for three months, and for the first time in years, I was able to reconnect with him and develop a bond where I felt that we understood the essence of one another. We hadn’t seen each other in years and because my Spanish skills have deteriorated over the years, it has become increasingly difficult for us to communicate. Toward the end of his visit, he told me how much he loved being given the opportunity to learn about the woman I have become (although I would identify my maturity in the words of Britney – not a girl, not yet a woman). He continued to tell me that he loved seeing me smile when I showed him my school in Boston. He loved watching the way I carried myself as I walked down the sidewalk. He loved watching me come downstairs each day with a different “crazy” necklace. He loved hearing all of my sarcastic comments about my surroundings (even though I thought nobody could hear them). He loved the way I would beam with pure happiness every time I played with my dog. In sum, he loved watching me as I went through the minuscule daily activities of living my life.
This particular conversation I had with him has resonated with me because it made me realize that I too love to observe the tiny details about the people I interact with every day. A person does not necessarily have to preach something profound or offer powerful insight on the world in order to be an interesting person. I am an explorer. My greatest passion is learning about other people and the way that people live their lives around the world. I am fascinated by daily activities and perspectives that are like, or unlike my own. My grandpa made me realize that even though my writing may not have an explicit profound meaning or it may not be witty or funny, it could still be entertaining or meaningful for somebody else.
I believe that there is a common intrigue that people maintain about discovering different peoples’ realities. My intent for this blog, my first personal blog, will be to acknowledge the value in the “average” daily life. You, as my reader, will entirely decide if my blog is fascinating or entertaining, but I will write regardless. I will take the risk to share my odd daily thoughts or experiences and I encourage you to raise your glass and appreciate your own daily thoughts and actions. Cheers to the average!