Over the past couple of days I’ve started and deleted a handful of blog posts. I find that before I can write my next blog, I’ve got to acknowledge what seems really apparent to me. Writing a blog seems an awful lot like writing about… me.
Me, me, me.
It makes me feel rather… narcissistic. I was never successful at keeping a diary or a journal as a kid because of this same concern. I don’t know about anyone else’s attempts, but my entries would usually start with something like, “I did this amazing thing” or “I did this very embarrassing thing” (usually this latter) and went on and on describing said amazing/embarrassing thing that happened to me. Then I’d picture my big sis stumbling on said diary and teasing me mercilessly about what I’d just written, ending with me tearing up the entry and flushing any possible remnants of the pages away.
So understand my consternation that with blogging there seems to not only be that element of writing about me in every entry, but also putting it out there for ANYONE TO READ!!! Crazy.
Okay, so I will try not to be all about “me, me, me” and when I do talk about me, please understand that I am not a person who usually goes on and on about me. I’m usually good at deflecting questions on me to everyone else. For anyone who stumbles on this blog, hopefully whatever I say will offer you something—whether a good laugh, a nodding of understanding, and maybe even a good eye roll.
That’s all. Thanks for listing to… me.