On Blogging.

Blogging is weird. 

Most of the time, I don't talk about it.

I don't tell people in conversations that I have a blog, because...honestly, it sounds pretentious.

"I have a blog" feels like something that people who also talk about the flavors of forest floor and meadow mist in red wines say.

It feels like something that people with an overblown sense of self importance say.

Maybe I over think it.

Maybe I'm shy.

I don't know.

Still though, blogging is weird.

On the one hand, it's a lovely little journal in which I have cataloged hundreds of posts about my family, my kids, myself. The journeys that we've taken, the challenges we've faced, the big and small moments that have made up our lives for the last three years that I've been writing here.

It's the place where I told true stories of love, loss, heartache, death, anger, and received dozens of emails from people all over the world who said "Thank you", people who said "You helped me", or people who felt a kinship to me because I had the words to say things they didn't.

On the other hand, it's a vast and public arena and you ultimately have no idea how many people are reading about your life.

I have 17 "official" followers, according to Blogger. 

Yet, I have upwards of 3,000 views and visits to my blog every. single. month.

Are the same 17 people coming back 176 times each per month? I doubt it. That means there is a huge number of quiet little lurkers out there that know more about me than I will ever know about them.

When I meet people who read my blog, and they mention it, I feel shy.

I feel like they have the advantage.

They know so. much. about me. and I know almost nothing about them.

Still, most of the time, it feels good to come here and talk.

To tell you about the inconsequential things that made up our week, or the things that are weighing on me, or the little victories I've achieved. 

Even if I don't know you, even if you're one of the people who read consistently but don't officially "follow", even if you've read for years and never left a comment or sent an email, or said hello, I'm glad you're here, whoever you are.

I'm happy to share myself and my family with you and I hope it makes you feel something.

After three years of endless rambling, I'm glad you're still reading.