It’s 5:54AM and I need to write this right now so I can stop thinking about it and fall asleep.
I started this blog in June 2013 to write about sports. It was never meant to be a personal blog. I wasn’t following any guidelines. This was my own space where I could spend too many hours fixing up the homepage until it was a reflection of me.
I had no expectations coming into this, but my guard was up.
I made sure I stuck to sports and nothing else. This is the Internet. I’m not about to go and tell a bunch of strangers every little thing about my life.
I’d tell you how many times I’ve changed the information of my “About Me” page, but I’ve lost count. I’ve been overly cautious of what I share since day one.
Then one night, it all changed. I sat at my computer and felt like I had to write about a certain topic. It’s like my body didn’t give my mind a choice. I wrote my first real, raw, personal blog post. It got Freshly Pressed.
The words of that post resonated with a lot of people around the world. I was overwhelmed. I almost couldn’t believe it. So many complimentary words were coming at me from a million different directions.
Of course, I was flattered. I was honoured. I was humbled. I was shocked. I was trembling.
It’s crazy to say, but a part of me didn’t quite believe people when they raved over my post. Or when they shared it with their friends. Or when they touted me as an incredible blogger.
I felt like my friends had to say those things. They had to hype me up. That’s what friends are for, right?
I mean, what did I really do? I just put my mind on a screen for people to read. Apparently, they loved it.
And ever since then, I’ve been even more careful about what I’ve written.
Weird, isn’t it?
I felt like I set the bar so high that nothing I ever wrote again would ever come close in comparison.
I haven’t written as much about me, as I have about topics. Or things that interest me. Or weird things like people at buffets. That’s intentional.
I didn’t want to become a blogger that puts their every day life on the Internet. That’s not me. I’m very selective about who I share certain things with.
In many posts I’ve said that I let my blog topics come to me and I just write them freely. And that I write about anything I want. That’s not entirely true.
There’s always this censor in my head that screens every topic. I think of all the possible people that will read it, and think of how they will respond. If I don’t think they’ll like it, or understand what I was trying to say, then I will scrap the idea.
It was easy for me to write that very first personal post (the one that got Freshly Pressed) because I didn’t have a lot of eyes on this blog. I would post something and very few people would read it. In a sense, I felt safer that way.
If you’re having a hard time following, it’s like this: We have hundreds of friends on Facebook, but we only let a handful know everything about us. That’s the dilemma I face with this blog. Once I say something, it’s out there for anyone to read.
I know the whole point of a blog is to create, and become a part of, a community. But sometimes I just want to post something and let it sit there. I don’t always want comments, or recognition, or advice, or questions, or people trying to delve further into what I said.
Everything I have to say is in the post, that’s why it’s there.
Sometimes I wish I started this blog anonymously and didn’t tell anyone about it. I wouldn’t have a censor in my head. I wouldn’t have to worry about what people think.
But then I remember all the friends who have told me they love reading my blog. I remember all the people who have started their own blog because of me. I remember all the people who have told me they can relate to the words that I write.
Deep down, that means a lot. It makes me feel like I’m doing something important.
I’m a private person with a public blog. There was bound to be an internal struggle.
Not sure if any of this made sense, but now I can sleep.