Blogging seems presumptuous, doesn’t it? I know everyone is very busy, yet I throw up a page of scribblings for you to read. I assume that whatever I have to say is more interesting, or at least more useful, than whatever else you could be doing with the time it takes to read my 300 words.
Blogging used to be a mission. I had insights I thought were universal. I had insights I thought were salvific. I had a responsibility to share them as best I could, as honestly as I could.
What’s the point of blogging when the mission is over? Does it turn into something petty? Another opportunity to put myself in the centre of attention?
I guess. But it’s not just that. I don’t think it’s even mostly that.
I have seen and heard beautiful things. Ideas and stories that are worth talking about, arguing about. Stories and ideas that make me smile right down into my heart. And more than anything, I want to share. It’s fun to shape these thoughts into text. It’s fun to think that others might read and grow a similar smile. It’s fun to hope that someone could read my words and offer some of their own in return.
If I ever start blogging again, it’s because I’m presumptuous enough to think my scribbles are worth your time. They might not be. But they’re certainly worth mine.