“BUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTTTTTT! You LYYYYYYYY-EDDD to me!” Screaming despite apparent nasal congestion, the ratty little gal could make Dennis the Menace a candidate for Mildly Mannered. She annoyed me, with her huge brown eyes and cutesy stripped blue tights. The picture of sugar and spice and the teeth of a raptor. Perhaps her dad promised a chocolate bar, or a trip to the mall, or a pony with a pink bow. Another obvious parental failure to deliver. It happens. Or perhaps she surmised the truth behind the Easter Bunny. Maybe this guy wasn’t her daddy after all. I didn’t really care. What struck me most was those words…
She was right.
I’ve been thinking a lot about why people blog. It can be out of a desire “to be recognized” a more mature effort at popularity or esteem. We can blog in order reveal ourselves to ourselves, a new age journal process to account for our unique growth. Like ticks on a wall charting our growth (or, for this 61 incher, the lack thereof).
Many would say…I blog for myself. I know I have.
And I would be a liar.
I think in many ways, even after all the awesome accomplishments I’ve experienced, the places I’ve traveled, the souls I’ve loved or simply smiled to in greeting, each day I still hunger to prove that I matter and have a little place in this world. So, yeah, I blog for my own benefit. And it seems funny, then, that sometimes wen I do so, I am lying to myself.
I wrote to one who was giving up her blog because it triggered in her a need to spin a false sense of self, not to mention stoke the fires of perfectionism:
I won’t be sappy and all that shit, becuase, let me tell you: many of us who “blog” are making a journal that is often the image of life we’d like to present. I say on my tag line 30. single. professional. I don’t say: often lonely. often disappointed. often worried about being “sinful” or out of control. I often eat lackluster food and have lackluster dinner parties. A shirt I buy doesn’t fit right. A run I go on is more punishing than rewarding. My yoga practice festers itself with forward bend of inflexible “should I, I need to, don’t forget,” So, trying to figure out who you are ? Well, I think I will die first before that’s resolved. But here’s to more authentically accepting the middle ground that is being human.
Sometimes, I lie to you. It’s a lie of omission, yes, a half-telling or a spinning of the truth. Like the Oprah book selection A Thousand Little Pieces, a lot of the non-fiction is engineered and woven into part fantasy. And that’s not all bad, either.
But the psychologist in me, says, stop that! Embrace the darkness that inherently pursues us all. Mention that sometimes you read a blog and are then concerned about the 4 grams of protein less and 10 calories more in your brand of yogurt. That you could be making better fudge babies. That you should have run 10 miles instead of 4. Rreally? is it THAT crucial????When did 10 calories, a few miles, matter so much?) .
Again, I wrote a response to a blog
What do you think about already aware people documenting food in such detail? It would definitely make me more perfectionist, rigid and anxious. I’d start picking apart 10 calories FOR SURE!
I know there are some places where I need to be more honest with myself. Because I am loveably flawed. I sometimes (OFTEN!) spend time and energy on matters of inconsequence. I rob myself of pleasure…But then again, I spend energy on things that DO matter. My Work. Books. My Loved One. Decoupaging my Kitchen Table. LIVE AN AMAZING LIFE! Seriously! I am happy! But would I’d be MORE happy if I acknowledged struggles to MYSELF more. And maybe, sometimes, to you?????? Or just more anxious of my shortcomings?
Damn. She’s still screaming. Give that girl her pony already.