Nothing to See Here…
I thought for a moment I had “outgrown” blogging. I have toyed with the notion of the purpose it fills in my life before, and more lately it’s seemed like everything there is to say, either goes somewhere else (out loud to a continent four hours a day) can’t/isn’t my style to talk about (work/relationships) or it’s been posted (or isn’t spectacularly in need of being so.)
I mean, there are whole successful blogs that exist to chronicle what someone packs for lunch, but salad and tofu and oatmeal in Tupperware isn’t something that I can make exciting.
Nope. Still just lettuce. I work a lot, I work out in the time that’s left, and do regular stuff like order tags for my step cats. (OMG. “Petunia Pong” and “HRH Ping Haraschak” [of the Ping Dynasty] are going to be so stylish.)
And if it’s not tofu and cat tags, everything else I create is for work.
And then it hit me. In the middle of the second day of a two-day, remote broadcast, putting everyone from 8 year olds to nurses for wounded warriors on the air, that I spend my day telling stories that aren’t about me. It’s the exact opposite of what this space usually holds, and it’s precisely the reason I signed up. To move away from a plot of “Me, I, Mine and Me” and to just be the storyteller.
Perhaps I haven’t outgrown it — it’s just grown in to exactly what it’s supposed to be.
