One More Time

Blogging is hard, y’all.

I’ve taken a lot of swings at it and I’ve never really found my niche. I think it’s probably because I have a problem staying motivated. I love writing about various things, be they music, television, film, life, books, emotions, religion, etc. And I can’t help but fall in love with the fact that I improve whenever I take the time to write. Plus, it makes me feel good to accomplish something, to point to (or share) a post and say “Hey, I did that. That was me.” It’s a very precise feeling of fulfillment that I really haven’t felt anywhere else. But I’ve never really been able to stick with a single project. I’ve done some cool things, but I’ve always dropped the ball, forcing myself to abandon one thing and convince myself that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with it if I ever tried again. And yet here I am.

Now, I wouldn’t be honest with myself if I said I didn’t care if people read my posts. But I will say that I get a bigger rush from posting something than I do from reading that I had a higher volume of traffic to my blog in the past few days. I write for myself. It allows me to share my thoughts with every one of you who is kind enough (and maybe silly enough) to humor my thoughts and I. Besides, I’m probably better off saying all of these things through a forum where I can’t be tempted to debate. Of course I love discussing things, especially things in which I’m interested. It’s just that I have an unhealthy desire to want to come up with a response to every single thing that people have to say. It’s pure selfishness and blogging offers me a type of firewall where I’m not able to immediately respond, but instead consider disagreements and think them through with a level head.

But in addition, I write because I feel like I’m not doing myself a service when I’m not writing. I believe I have a gift when it comes to writing, a gift given to me by God (I don’t know what your views on religion are, but if you read my stuff, you’ll get a clear picture of what I believe. Hopefully. That’s what I aspire to anyway.) If I’m ignoring that gift and not improving as a writer, then how am I being a good steward of an ability that I have? It doesn’t make me feel good to know I’m wasting something that I may or may not be able to use in my life. I’m not trying to puff myself up by saying, “LOOK AT ME AND READ MY STUFF I’M A BRILLIANT WRITER.” I’m not. I know I’m not. But I’m trying to be. And everyone has to start somewhere, right?

So I’ll give it one more shot.

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