Blog anniversary

One year ago today, I began this blog. Yesterday, I scanned through all of the 85 posts and reflected on the experience.

I noticed that the blog quickly evolved into something more than I thought it was going to be. I started out thinking that I'd be writing short posts that would unearth more meaning behind my daily tasks. I also thought there would be more about knitting. It started out that way, but it didn't stay that way very long. For the most part, I'm examining things that puzzle me using the filter of my own experiences. I also find myself challenging the status quo. That's right, me and Don Quixote tilting at windmills.

The length of my posts has expanded as well. Early on they were in the 300-400 word range. Now the average is 850 words with double that happening occasionally. Not that word count is important on this blog, but it is interesting. I don't know if I was being timid in the beginning or if it was just a function of the shift in focus, but it has changed.

I've learned several things through blogging this past year. First, I quit worrying about whether or not anyone was reading it. Early on I'd worry that no one was reading it if there were no comments. I installed a site meter which shows me the number of hits and sometimes the state or country it came from. I was thrilled when I realized that my blog had been read on every continent. This started out primarily through other bloggers and other people on my social networking site recommending my blog to others. Some have even embedded links to my blog from their blogs. A big thanks to those folks, especially Colin.

I worried for awhile that no comments meant that my writing was too personal and didn't carry anything that someone else could relate to. But then, I started getting e-mails and messages on social networking sites that negated that worry. Although I'm sure that some of the posts didn't speak to anyone but me.

I also learned not to pay attention to, nor feed, the trolls. I've had great exchanges with people who disagree with me and we've given each other food for thought. And those who disagreed also afforded me the opportunity to more fully explore the issue for myself and to offer a clearer explanation. I will, however, absolutely not engage with trolls who snipe from cover hurling verbal abuse. Such people have been out there since the beginning of internet exchanges and they aren't going to go away. So I ignore them in the hope that they will go find another blog or blogger to hate for awhile.

Being the Queen of Why, I naturally considered why I began the blog and, more importantly, why I continue it. I honestly can't remember exactly why I decided to start. I have a vague notion that it was fueled by a desire to put more discipline into my writing with a hope of eventually establishing myself as a writer. But even that seems to be a part of why I kept at it more than why I launched it. Whatever the reason, my journal hasn't seen a lot of business since I began the blog. Where I used to fill up two journals a year, the current one has been going for more than a year and has room for more.

And the why of why I keep at it is even more elusive to me. I know that I enjoy it. I know that I'm very happy with the brief and not so brief contacts with others that have happened. It has given me more discipline in my writing and has helped me move closer to the goal of putting 'author' on a business card. I've also learned not to force a posting if it just seems not to want to come. I guess ultimately I continue with it because it continues to give me things to learn. It gives me a place to flesh out ideas that are swirling through my mind. It has given, for the most part, pleasant interactions with people I most likely would have never had contact with. Not writing has never been an option for me. I've done it since I was a child and I'm not likely to stop before I stop breathing. I've never done it in a public way before this year, so, in a sense, it is teaching me a bit about being courageous. And the exploration will continue.

Thank you for reading.

Paint

"Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can." -- Danny Kaye.

I came across this quote several months ago and was immediately attracted to the images it stirred up in my mind. It made me wonder what the current canvas of my life looked like and how I might want to add to it and spice it up. It also got me thinking about what it has looked like in the past.

When I was growing up and as a teenager, I think my canvas most closely resembled an insipid watercolor portrait. Watery colors with a few blues and gold sparkles, pleasant enough to look at, if anyone really wanted to examine it. But easy to miss entirely because of the small size and lackluster frame.

Then, in young adulthood, I entered what I refer to as my Beige Period. I did all the conventional things, in the conventional ways and never, ever, gave a moment's thought to whether or not it was what I wanted to do or was meant to do. It was even reflected in my clothing -- browns, tans and grays. A nice nonthreatening canvas that quickly faded into the background even more easily than the earlier watercolor existence. There were always other colors there, buried under the dull ones, but I never let them totally escape. Even when I'd let something peek out from under the gray, I'd cover it back up at the least sign of collective disapproval. I was a waiting room landscape, hanging unnoticed in my own life.

At long, long last, I hit 40 and my peacock period exploded outward. I splashed any and every color I could think of at the canvas of my life. Some didn't look quite the way I had envisioned them, but I merrily continued to add layers and depth and colors, blissfully curious to see what it would turn out to be. And my clothes reflected this activity as well. It was as though all the self-expression that had been bottled up for four decades wanted to spring forth all at once. And I notice that the canvas has gotten bigger as well as more colorful. No longer a watercolor miniature, now nothing will serve but a wall-sized mural and I don't rule out wrapping it around the corner beyond the edges.

These days I am becoming a bit more controlled in my paint splashing. I consider a bit more what to splash and where. The palette now contains rich jewel colors of incredible depth and luminosity, that I scarcely would have touched earlier in my life. The composition is open to possibilities while maintaining a sense of having a unified theme. And there are areas of complete audacity that I would have never thought I was capable of before.

I wonder how many of us allow ourselves to settle into Beige Periods the way that I did? I wonder what colors lie hidden beneath acceptable nondescript exteriors? I wonder how many Van Goghs or Chagalls lurk beneath whitewash? And I wonder why we fear to throw paint?