why write?

On my way back from Long Island yesterday my nephew and I were discussing Facebook etiquette.  He was adamant in his belief that personal messages should not be posted on the walls of friends; they should be sent as personal messages, or texts, or even emails.  “There is absolutely no reason why the world needs to know my personal business.”  I agree with him, though I’m sure it raises the question, then why do I blog?

The big issues in my life, the ones that keep me up at night, I don’t write about.  And while yes, I do write about my anxiety and frustration in not finding employment, the depths of those feelings are barely explored.  So while it appears I write about everything and nothing, I skip those things with the most meaning.  The biggest hurts.   The unaddressed fears.  The truly personal.

I also don’t think my life is particularly interesting, though I like to think I am.  But I believe that of everyone.  With few exceptions, I bet an interview by Barbara Walters with any random person would result in a portrait of someone worth learning about.  It is the accumulation of the mundane that collectively describes most of us.  Peeking into someone else’s life may help us better understand our own.

But I certainly don’t write because I think my perspective on life is going to have an impact on anyone else.  No, I primarily write because I like to.  I began keeping a diary when I was about eight, and I’ve never been able to quit the habit. 

There are also a few other reasons why I write:

    It adds some discipline to an otherwise undisciplined life.

    It sometimes forces me to do things I wouldn’t ordinarily do, just so I can write about them. 

    I love knowing I’ve connected with someone else, sometimes even strangers. 

    It’s a nice way to keep my long-distance friends (or people I don’t talk to regularly) up-to-date with what I’m doing, thinking, buying, considering.

    And finally, it allows people to know how my relationships are going with Time Warner.  Or Bergdorf’s.  Or Con Edison.  Or any faceless third party who influences me more than I'd like to admit.