A few years older, questionably wiser, no clearer on a direction… But as I reminisce back to those glorious days of grad school, one of the things that I miss the most is writing. The more I read beautifully-written pieces recently (like this story or this whole column), the more I am reminded of my own attempts (here, and maybe here) and wonder why I ever stopped.
One of the reasons, I think, is feeling that the topics swimming around my head were getting tired. So much of what I put down in words relates to my identity, my memories from days gone by, or just my daily experiences. Is that interesting? And then, upon my umpteenth attempt to describe a mundane detail, is that still interesting? Another reason was probably related to the worry and stress associated with finding the right balance of posting personally meaningful writing versus revealing too much in a very public forum. And last but not least, there was the issue of time.
All of these are in all honesty excuses. Excuses for the hidden fears of not writing well enough to keep my friends and strangers on the internet entertained enough. Or the fear I won’t be able to keep up a posting regularity that, well, keeps friends and strangers on the internet entertained enough. Or the fear that no one will visit and revisit, and I will be writing for an empty audience because … well, friends and strangers on the internet are not entertained enough.
See where that is going?
In this blog revival of sorts, there will undoubtedly be ebbs and flows in posting and in quality. But here we go again. Let’s raise a keyboard to those joys I remember of writing and rewriting and posting and reposting and at the end of the day, just plain ol’ telling a good story.