I sit in my house, or on my porch, or in the passenger seat of the car and I write.
I hit “publish” and my words get sent out to possibly every corner of the world.
Within seconds I can be sharing my thoughts with a blogger lying on the beach in Florida. A new found, never before met, friend in Australia. A wonderful buddy in Canada. Someone (oh please!) in Ireland might read my words and chuckle, or become pensive, or roll their eyes. Somebody in Pakistan or India might read and wonder about my life in America. Someone in the Philippines may read and find a reason to smile and laugh at my goofiness. Maybe there’s some folks in America who think “God I hope she doesn’t live too close to me”.
Come on! That last line was funny!!!!
But from right here, at any given time, I can reach out and touch the world. Almost any single part of it.
And that? That very much gives me hope.
For all of the things that I read there is a different message. If I read news articles on-line I usually read at least a few of the comments after the article. To get a feel for what the communities attached to the story think about it. Quite honestly most commenters on community stories scare me. Though there are the thoughtful commenters who try to be objective and stay on topic, there are those who just down right make me scared to walk the streets. There are internet sites that focus solely on “entertainment”. It kind of scares me that we give this much attention to celebrities and “famous” people. I think we are creating problems, for them and for us.
Then…you have people around the world who do what I do: we sit in our homes and write about every day things. Real people things. Real people opinions. Real family issues. We write fiction, or autobiographies, or some down right humorous stuff that might happen in Texas.
From what I have personally experienced, and seen through other’s blogs and their comments, there is a world full of compassion. Why isn’t this news? I read of happy moments where hundreds of people will “like” an event and share their own happy experiences. I will read of sad and deeply emotional events where hundreds will, again, share their experiences, or leave a thoughtful comment of support, or offer a prayer for healing.
From my bike desk in my bike room (see glossary) I can tap in to children exploring the emotions of their father’s experiences in World War II. Or feel the frustration of a life turned upside down by someone else’s careless actions, or by an accident that no one could know to prevent. And people reach out. They offer suggestions. They offer hope. They offer, if nothing else, sadness at someone else’s trauma.
From my front porch I might tap in to stories of funny childhood, ridiculously hilarious sibling comics. Or long ago love stories that no one ever knew about. And from these I learn that I’m kind of normal, or everyone else is kind of not. Or I learn that life in other places are eerily similar to ours when we’re talking (writing) about love and relationships.
In my house I can find strength from someone who has suffered a loss and deals daily with it. Making me cringe at my own self pitying. Or making me grateful for the support in my life. Or makes me take notice of others around me who might need help.
I remember writing, as a very small child and locking up what I wrote. Or putting it under my bed. I mean, who would want to read it? It was prose in form. And it was from my heart. I had to write it down. And I can go unpack it from my closet now. At one point in my life I got brave enough to write some of them out on pink note cards and tape them to my bedroom wall. I don’t know if anyone ever read them but mom. No one ever said anything to me about them. But it was important to me to write what was in my head and in my heart. It was important for me to catch my thoughts. Why? I have no idea. In essence, anyone reading my blog is crawling (figuratively) under my bed and reading what I have stashed under there. Or you’re sitting at the foot of my childhood bed reading one of those pink note cards. Why ever you are reading is your reason alone. Do I make you laugh? Probably not when I intend. But I don’t mind! I don’t mind my ridiculous being cause for someone to laugh. I’ve grown enough that I can take joy in whatever reason I cause you to laugh. You might read because you’re related and are making sure I didn’t spill your secret (no worries, I’m not a secret spiller). You might read because you like biking (how can anyone NOT?). Anyway, you read for whatever reason, from where ever you are.
I write from where I am because it’s what I do.
I’m not profound but I have profound moments. Someone in Germany might connect with that. So I’m glad I can blog. I’m not funny but I have funny moments. Someone in California might find it quite amusing. So I’m glad I blog. I have dull moments and write some quite dull blogs. But I still need to write.
But for every blog I write there are thousands more. Moments of people’s lives that are circling the world. Being shared from culture to culture, friend to foe, educated in the greatest institutions of learning to educated by the seat of their pants in the school of hard knocks. We all have something to learn from one another.
Because there is a whole lotta world out there to learn about.
Thank you for sharing yours with me.
And thank you for letting me share mine with you.
All ten of you!!!!
Ha! I kid I kid (well, not on some days!).
I am a blogger.