On Monday night, I wrote on Twitter: "That's it. I'm officially quitting blogging."
In my mind, this was a big deal. I've had this little site since October 2008, and I've crafted a large part of my identity out of being a "writer." I like it when friends mention things I write, or when they share thoughtful comments. These words of support are like little Christmas presents under my virtual tree.
And yet, the main response to my announcement was, "Do whatever makes you happy."
So what makes me happy? It makes me happy to come to this space and write about my life. To record the things that matter to me. To make my words dance like a stone skipping the surface of a lake.
What doesn't make me happy? The hustle. Returning comments. The I'll-read-you-if-you-read-me game.
I don't like the games I play with myself, either. Why doesn't [insert blogger I admire] like me? How come more people don't read me?
I have my father's engineering mind, so I applied some logic and determined that people are busy and when they don't read what I write, it's nothing personal. And yes, there's a chance--a very real chance---that when I write about things that matter to me, it may not matter to anybody else.
I might be okay with that..
I'm not quite going to quit blogging. I'm just going to be selfish about it. Meaning, I will write about what I want to write about. My kids. My life.
I'll probably stop writing fiction unless I feel like it.
I will read other blogs when I am inspired and fully attentive. And I will probably do it in a very haphazard fashion. But I am not going to spend one minute worrying about the status of my reader.
I started writing because I wanted a creative outlet. So that's what I'm doing. Writing for the pure joy of it. Writing because it's what makes me happy.
And if that's being selfish, I am okay with it.