It’s for me.

I realized recently that I haven’t done a lot of blogging about things that happen in my day-to-day life. I haven’t written about the Clan Inebriated Soul Train to Santa Barbara, or the night Joe and I went to Griffith Observatory and poked Albert Einstein’s AND James Dean’s noses, or the tea I had at the Huntington Library/Garden with my cousin and our (current/future) Mothers-in-Law, or my awesome Pampered Chef Bridal Shower this past weekend…

I’m not sure why I lack the inspiration or motivation to write about stuff like that, because I know that if I don’t write about it, I will most likely forget the details. It probably comes back to the question of who I’m blogging for. (Sorry, I mean FOR WHOM I’m blogging.) Sometimes it’s not really for me. Sometimes I get caught up in the fantasy of blogging for a living, accumulating thousands of readers, and having a following of likeminded people hang on my every word.

But even if it WAS all about gaining readership or impressing/satisfying your expectations, why should I feel like talking about the “events” in life isn’t worth sharing?

So many of the other blogs I read are really centered on what you do in your daily goings-on. And I love reading that stuff. I love imagining the scenarios you recount, and remembering similar things I’ve experienced. I love living vicariously through people whose lives involve opportunities and events that, for one reason or another, I haven’t had a chance to experience in my own life. And with very few exceptions, I never get bored reading those “What I did today” types of posts.

Maybe it’s because when I first started blogging (I mean wayyyyy back in 2001), I fell too easily into that dry, lifeless recitation of the completely unimportant and uninteresting parts of my day.

“I took a test today and this one question was pretty hard.”

“Matt totally looked at me in band and it made me wonder if he likes me.”

“I hate the outfit I wore today.”

So maybe a part of me still fears reverting back to those pointless posts that even I can’t stand reading. But that’s silly, right? I’m not sixteen years old anymore. For one thing, my life doesn’t revolve around school and crushes. And I’ve learned good writing techniques, and developed a personality in my writing, and…

Well, I still feel unsure. I guess that’s what it boils down to. Sometimes I just don’t trust that my recap of tea at the Huntington will be witty enough, or descriptive enough, or just plain interesting enough.

But I’ve got to start somewhere. And I’ve got to start documenting those things for me. Because I don’t want to forget those fun events and experiences. And I don’t trust my brain to retain the memories. I don’t even trust a camera to trigger the smells and tastes and thrills and laughs.

I trust words. Words, somehow, make it that much more vivid in my mind. When I write things down, I remember them a lot longer, and more clearly. When I tell a story over and over, I can’t possibly forget it (kind of like the “how I met Joe” story that I’ve told about 1,532 times now).

So…look forward to some more posts about my life. About what’s happening in it right now (namely, about the awesome Pampered Chef Bridal Shower this weekend). And if you don’t look forward to them?

Well, I’m sorry. Feel free to skip over them and just play Truth Tuesday with me. Or skip my blog all together…

Because it’s really, ultimately, for ME. It’s for you, too. I won’t lie about that. I love comments. I love knowing there are a few people out there who connect with what I say, and with whom I feel a kinship that seems impossibly strong considering we’ve never met. I still write with you in mind, most of the time. But I can’t let that become a hindrance to the primary reason that I blog.

It’s for me.