Why don’t I blog anymore?
It is an easy and complex problem to solve. Its easy, because technically I just don’t sit at a desk and type. Its complex because there are things that prevent me from not sitring at the desk, rambling away.
Some reasons I don’t blog:
- too many new people leaving no time for thinking
- too much reading causing a spiderweb of disorder
- my brother laughs at the fact I do blog
- I know the one guy who will read this
- My sense of humour broke
- I always think; is this God honouring ? (interesting)
- My minister has my blog link
- Everything has been written about
- It seems a fairly self-absorbed thing to do
- I dont know?
- I wish I knew.
- There are things I can say that I can’t take back
- Who really cares!
- It adds no real value? (arguable from the intangible point of view)
If I do a quick thematic analysis, we see a small pattern occuring here. We can group this into two areas: “Other peoples opinions” and “No perceived value”
Under the category of other people’s opinions are points 2, 3 , 4 , 7, 12.
Under the category “No perceived value”: 8, 9, 13, 14 (14 seems obvious enough)
The problem seems to be that I am fearful of what others might have to say of whatever I write, and that I don’t think anything I have to say has any real value (or it might but its already available in some format on this earth to them).
The fearful part is easy to navigate for the very real fact that very very few people will ever read this stuff and if they did and had some other thoughts on it I doubt they’d express those thoughts.
The greater area of challenge is that of adding value and having something to say. I sort of get annoyed with people who have something to say about stuff they shouldn’t really say much about and I’m not an expert in anything other than me – which itself is often debatable. I could blog about a lot of things but I’m in no way the best person to ask on most of those matters. These areas include but are not limited to:
the list could go on…but I’ll spare you.
I use to think I could be a great writer. I believed with 1,7% of my being that I was really meant to think and write. Do and write. Live and write. Exist and write. There’s something lovely about the idea of sharing something meaningful, even if only to a handful of people.
Contrarily (and similar to the writing I have done), there is something shameful about half-baked ideas and watery writing. Or, maybe very good ideas but overly fluffy writing. Sort of destroys the real meaning I think.
Anyway, until I find something of value to say and overcome the anxiety of others knowing my opinions, I’ll
wander wonder around.