I will box your ears and leave you here stripped bare.
Something has compelled me to put on “The Bachelor and the Bride,” a song I’ve found sweetly, tragically brilliant since first listen, but Seth has never been able to get into. When I put enough energy into pretending and simplifying, these little subtleties of taste can almost define our main differences at their crudest and most general. Recently I have found that it’s easier for me to tack abstract metaphors onto situations rather than try to distill them down into understandable language. I don’t think this is a good thing, because I am used to being able to form thoughts without having to translate them into words, and the last thing I want is for my grasp of language to slip away. Writing is a craft I’ve held too constant and taken for granted.
Can I admit something? Of course I can, but may I? Screw it if I can or not, because I’m giving myself permission: I kind of hate what blogging is for most people, probably including myself. There are a handful of blogs that I really, really admire, and I know I could never live up to that standard because it would (a) take a higher degree of introspection than I could achieve and an abolition of pettiness I’m afraid I can’t do without, and (b) my definition of “blogging” is far more casual, far less strict a regime than theirs. And even with that, I give it away, because something tells me that it’s not a regime, yet in my narrow-mindedness I can’t imagine it as anything but. It is, at least, a far more disciplined approach than what I’ve ever taken.
When I was 14, I used to type journal entries in text files, and craft them meticulously for an audience — a very well-defined audience, seeing as it consisted of a very specific set of people (and/or person). They were open letters cast in one direction only and I had to do them well to make sure my bait would bite, and anybody else who saw them…they were just bystanders, occasional onlookers, never meant to participate in the games I played with the few people whom I was trying to tell something. I miss that challenge — the writing between the lines, the thrill of imparting of a personal secret in a public realm. Like writing in code, but far more annoying.
I’ve lost that sense of forced direction since then, and maybe my problem is that I need to stop looking for it. I have the most fun writing to people, not for people — saying what I want them to hear while they’re listening, rather than saying what they want to hear so they listen. It’s the opposite of how to maintain a popular blog, but as long as I’m being self-indulgent — and I’m sure we’ve all covered at some point how narcissistic we bloggers are in our lengthy, over-written “about” pages — there shouldn’t be any problem with that.
I talked to my best friend last night for the first time in a long while. Although the last time we spoke before that was a little over a month ago, I don’t think we’ve had a real conversation, the sort where you take turns talking and listening, for months and months. And it felt good. Loyalty feels good. Being known feels good. Understanding feels good.
This semester is incredibly busy for me, but my classes are not yet demanding so much that I’m unable to keep up with them. While that pipe dream of a 4.0 might be a long shot this semester (and by god, will I metaphorically smoke it up just to get it), I want this to be something of a turning point in my life. A place where I can wake up and realize that I’m a capable person. And part of that is getting back to this: that place where I can publicly expose myself while covering everything up. It’s not something you need to read into — just me. And maybe if I search through my thoughts enough, I’ll find what I’ve been looking for…even if it’s not something I lost.
I liked what blogging was back in day. When people just wrote because they wanted to, not because they had to. When it was just journaling online! But it has evolved and so it goes…
It seems like there’s one kind of blogger who, I guess, does it to be known. To have a following, to be a blogebrity. Does that make sense? And the other kind who just wants to share their thoughts and stories because they can. Although the latter sometimes gains a following and then the lines are blurred and everything kinda rolls into one. Also, people that Twitter new blog posts? Ehh…
I dunno, I just like writing and sharing stories. I try to write as if I’m talking to a friend.
I find it really interesting to read about your thinking process about your writing, because it allows me to better understand mine. I would have to say that I agree with preferring to write to people instead of to their preferences. In high school I kept hand written journals and I would often write to myself, imagining myself as a separate entity from the voice writing at the time. That type of thing worked very well in a retrospective fashion, once I had enough time to distance myself from whatever disposition had led me to write in the first place. It really helped me to really look into myself and explore my motivations. There is something so rewarding about writing as if you don’t expect anyone but your future self to see it. But… I have no idea what the point of this was. In a lot of ways, this comment reflects the way I blog. I take one thought and keep going. Even though you’re busy, I hope you’ll keep writing. Try not to take us into too much consideration. :)
“…saying what I want them to hear while they’re listening, rather than saying what they want to hear so they listen.”
YES. That makes writing so much more authentic and genuine!
the lines of blogging for “you” and blogging for “you + whoever the hell else reads your stuff” has blurred. at least for me it has. this issue has come up a number of times, and it always gives me pause. i think, “am i selfish for blogging? for writing out my thoughts and expecting people to pay attention? for _wanting_ people to pay attention?” it makes me feel guilty sometimes. like i’m conceited or self-loving or whatever the hell it’s called. but then there’s always that release. that catharsis that comes from writing and putting it out there in your blog. it’s different than just writing in a journal that’s for your eyes only. i can’t explain it, but it’s different. it’s like… a personal journal isn’t enough. because you just write and write and write it out, and the only thing you’ve really accomplished is putting the emotions in another medium. you haven’t shared the burden of it with someone, so in a way, it’s still there. know what i mean? but then when you blog, you let others kind of in. but you have that filter and that distance because you won’t ever have to see them face to face. and it’s like sharing your soul with a friend, without the embarrassment and awkwardness the next day. ugh. what the hell am i talking about? anyway, i guess i was just trying to defend to my own self why the hell i probably will never stop blogging. cuz it’s catharsis. and it’s a weird kind of friendship with no one and everyone.