I love to write.
It comes naturally, and my writing is much more eloquent than my speech. I can take time to think about what I want to say and how I want to say it. It allows me to be much more precise, so that I don’t leave a conversation regretting all the things I should have said.
I also love to encourage people. Sometimes by reminding them that they aren’t alone in their trials. Or, if necessary, by reassuring them that someone else has screwed it up worse than they have. I suppose I’ve convinced myself that if others can benefit from my haphazard path through adulthood, maybe my shortcomings will sting a little less.
But blogging is a tricky proposition. Partly because there is a fine line between a blog post and a tell-all. Between self-deprecating and self-loathing.
There is, after all, such thing as sharing too much.
And of course it feels a little presumptuous to promote my own writing. To publicly suggest that you should take a few minutes out of your already-busy day to read what I have written. I’d much rather sit quietly on the sidelines and hope that you’ll stumble onto my blog without my help.
But since that isn’t likely to happen, I’ll self-market sparingly. I’ll simply ask that you stop by when you can and contribute when you feel compelled.
It’s just one person’s two-cents worth, but it’s honest and unembellished.
And I’m grateful you took time to read it.