blogging just because.

  

“By writing, I was participating in a tradition as old as humanity. I was here. Hieroglyphs on rock. I was here and this is my story.” Dani Shapiro

I’m having a rare moment of loafing, of being able to spend the morning scribbling in my journal, a practice that’s been neglected for months, of topping up my mug of green tea, and staring out of the kitchen window, pondering. Breathing.

Of being able to sit on my soft cream blanket on my sofa watching the morning light filter through the window. Breathing.

Still writing. Still breathing. Still blogging. Why do I blog? The yearn, the urge to sink in to something deeper, longer, challenging beckons again. An unfinished novel calling me back.  Of weaving a long intricate series of words and sentences and paragraphs together in to something that marvels me. Regardless of how it turns out. Its the turning up, the inky sweat, the emotional grime that calls me. The solitude of sitting undisturbed at my desk and free flowing.

Where does blogging fit in to all this I ponder?

The blogging world feels crammed with gurus offering rules and tips and how to’s. Courses on how to build audiences, 100 top blog titles, how to write viral blog posts. Where to pin, share, post.

And of lone voices who dare to stand out, break the rules and write from their heart and soul. No expectations. Not for accolade. Not for money. I wonder where do all these little voices go? The ones who blog just because. Just Because.

Because it helps make sense of their world. This world.

Because it says here I am. And here I can hide. Amongst the infinite multiple online galaxies of blog posts. Billions upon billions of words. Who’s going to find my words?

Because even though we spill our selves in to a public virtual world, the likelihood of our words being read by the masses is unlikely. Our public catharsis often remains well hidden, shared with a secret few. Yet catharsis it is.

These little voices, sharing their truth, just because. Together, they make a quiet yet profound collective roar.

The Blog Gurus will tell you if you’re not actively promoting your posts, well you don’t really believe in yourself or your work do you?

That’s simply not true. It is utter crap. Think of the people who paint, draw, create because they have to. The poets who weave words in to magic. The musicians busking on the high street and share the thrums and strums. They do it just because they love it. Because it is a deep inner urge and it serves a need, a purpose. It seems a contradiction that we publicly out ourselves in the blogosphere and yet there is immense comfort in remaining hidden.

Over the last 4 months, blogging has become a creative coping strategy for me. Of allowing myself to share the heartache of seeing my father go from a strong, healthy elder to a severely disabled man. Of trying to make sense of this through pictures and words.

If I allowed myself to ponder on this too long, thinking who wants to read this same old narcissistic stuff and ‘me me me’ over and over again, I would never write anything. If I’d not written I wouldn’t have experienced the incredible generosity of spirit of the sacred online sisterly support that I have had - which has helped keep me sane.  There is a comfort and security in knowing that only a teeny weeny community of trusted souls read my words. But if no-one did, I would still blog.

So I blog just because. Because it is a meditation, because it is writing practice, because it helps me join the dots. Because it helps me connect. Because it’s joyful and fun and pushes me, challenges me to show up. Because maybe it will touch someone somewhere.

Because I’m stubborn and like to find ways to break the ‘rules’.

One day I know that these words will no longer exist. That this space I pour love, time and energy in to will not exist. It will fade as quickly as the last breath I take in my body.

So here and now, as I write, as I create - I can only do it for this precious moment.