Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here. I write almost every day – sometimes about something that’s on my mind, and sometimes just recording the day’s events. There are times I think it’s the ultimate in self-indulgence to believe that such things need to be taking up space on the world wide web and that I should just stop using the bandwidth.
Then someone will send me a nice note, or a sweet comment, about something that has made a difference in their lives, and I approach the next blog post with renewed vigor.
I’ve been thinking about pulling some of the better posts into a book. It’s something a few people have asked for, and seems like it would be a good thing to do. It’s just yet another of those projects that can’t seem to find a supply of time to get done. And, speaking of self-indulgent…
Writing is something I’ve done every day, pretty much since I could. I’m not sure when I realized people kept journals, but I became devoted to it at a pretty early age. Pages and pages are filled with words – maybe some are important, but all are heartfelt.
It’s somewhat amazing that anyone takes the time to put words to paper – or screen. I still do both, and I know many other people do as well. Despite that, I do wonder at the wisdom of doing it so publicly sometimes. But, I keep doing it, not heeding even my own second thoughts.
I can only assume there’s a reason. Maybe it will become clear to me at some point.
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