Six months ago, I sent my blog link to a very good friend of mine who didn't respond. Later that week, when I asked if he had received my e-mail, he said he had and deleted it without viewing the blog because "frankly, blogs don't interest me." I nodded and said nothing but felt incredibly insulted, and then felt -- and remained-- angry at myself for suppressing those emotions. Six months later, I'm carrying that conversation like stale crumbs in unlaundered pants and would like to empty my pockets .
What would make my written words"uninteresting?" Is it that writing requires more depth than cursory Friday night conversation at the Chinese buffet and is therefore too taxing to investigate? What makes me acceptable company in the flesh but rejection fodder in print? He didn't even question the blog's focus, suggesting that the blog as a very entity rather than its content justifies disrespect. If I'd presented a published article or a book to him, would he have discarded that, too? Does the unfiltered analysis of every cybersneeze render all blogs cliche or useless if the writer isn't a celebrity? Is it the word "blog" itself which designates bloggers unappealing? (I've addressed this one before.)
Now I'm wondering whether this is even a "bloggable" subject. Since it's New Year's Eve, shouldn't I instead strive for more reflection and prophecy?
Yes. I'm glad we're talking. I confine too many thoughts to headspace and am grateful for this vehicle of expression. Even more, I'm thankful for the interaction and engagement I've experienced here, grateful to those of you who have read and responded on this site and privately. I don't feel so uninteresting when you reciprocate with your stories and respond from the heart to mine. In fact, I feel honored and wanted tell you.
During this week and a half of vacation I've gathered and discarded the clutter from every room in the house and cleared more space -- crumbled receipts, losing jai alai tickets, empty shampoo bottles, cardboard boxes and unharmonious lipsticks, a little bit every day, preparing to end the year by opening space that the Universe will fill in with more goodness. That means no more pocketed crumbs and fewer emotional grumblings. I expect joy and abundance and not only thank the Universe in advance for its multi-faceted generosity but pass it on to you.
My macaw decorates my head , my Irish Water Spaniel rests at my feet, my crippled oldFrench bulldog snores contentedly in his cushioned bed behind me, and my silly, senile schnauzer smiles from the heart, soul, and her little remaining memory as she naps downstairs just the way she likes it. They think I'm interesting. I think this is bloggable. Happy New Year to you and yours. May the love spread around you and through you uncensored.
What would make my written words"uninteresting?" Is it that writing requires more depth than cursory Friday night conversation at the Chinese buffet and is therefore too taxing to investigate? What makes me acceptable company in the flesh but rejection fodder in print? He didn't even question the blog's focus, suggesting that the blog as a very entity rather than its content justifies disrespect. If I'd presented a published article or a book to him, would he have discarded that, too? Does the unfiltered analysis of every cybersneeze render all blogs cliche or useless if the writer isn't a celebrity? Is it the word "blog" itself which designates bloggers unappealing? (I've addressed this one before.)
Now I'm wondering whether this is even a "bloggable" subject. Since it's New Year's Eve, shouldn't I instead strive for more reflection and prophecy?
Yes. I'm glad we're talking. I confine too many thoughts to headspace and am grateful for this vehicle of expression. Even more, I'm thankful for the interaction and engagement I've experienced here, grateful to those of you who have read and responded on this site and privately. I don't feel so uninteresting when you reciprocate with your stories and respond from the heart to mine. In fact, I feel honored and wanted tell you.
During this week and a half of vacation I've gathered and discarded the clutter from every room in the house and cleared more space -- crumbled receipts, losing jai alai tickets, empty shampoo bottles, cardboard boxes and unharmonious lipsticks, a little bit every day, preparing to end the year by opening space that the Universe will fill in with more goodness. That means no more pocketed crumbs and fewer emotional grumblings. I expect joy and abundance and not only thank the Universe in advance for its multi-faceted generosity but pass it on to you.
My macaw decorates my head , my Irish Water Spaniel rests at my feet, my crippled oldFrench bulldog snores contentedly in his cushioned bed behind me, and my silly, senile schnauzer smiles from the heart, soul, and her little remaining memory as she naps downstairs just the way she likes it. They think I'm interesting. I think this is bloggable. Happy New Year to you and yours. May the love spread around you and through you uncensored.
Comments
This is my wish for your New Year
That as your eyes bless the morning light
Your heart will be filled with joyous delight
And you will no longer tremble in fear
Of want, the struggles and the fights.
This is my wish for your New Year
For all those whom you hold dear
That every wrong, every worry will be set aright
And you will put to rest your troubles tonight
This is my wish for your New Year
Happy New Year, Lisa!
Fortunately, I enjoy writing it, and I love posting Russ's pictures.
Keep blogging. It will touch people who need it. Don't worry about the others.