I’ve been pondering a little about why I write here.
Never too great at the handwritten journal, I was skeptical when I decided to start on online journal. That was three years ago (on zorpia.com) and true to form, I didn’t keep up with it. I wrote enough, I guess, but I just wasn’t consistent. Blogger.com made the process exponentially easier, so yea for them.
As I peruse other blogs, most seem to have a theme and purpose. The writers have a specific reason for writing in the first place. Is it weird that I don’t have that?
I’ve looked back at my history as a writer and there is no identity. I’ve not taken writing seriously. Sometimes I enjoy it, most of the time I loathe it. Often times I only wrote because there was massive amounts of junk inside me I had to get out. I don’t write for any other reason that to sort that junk out. It doesn’t do any good inside me, so I feel as though spewing it all over is better than it taking space up in my heart and mind.
Now, I’ve turned into “blog girl”. In random parts of my day – driving, reading, talking with friends, watching TV – I’ll catch myself thinking about what I will write about next. What is that? Isn’t that weird? I think it’s weird.
My identity is something I feel I’m always searching for. Which I also think is weird. Why must I have a definition in the first place? Does it make me feel as though I belong to something and that, in turn, makes me feel whole? Like it’s okay for me to be here, my existence is acceptable if I know what my “job” is?
That is the great pursuit, isn’t it? The search for reason, purpose, the “one thing” Jack Palance speaks of in City Slickers. The great pursuit of happiness, something we think we can only find outside of ourselves. That sucks, because I want to be an island. I’m sick of looking for happiness in other people and other things. I’m never gonna find it there because that’s not where it is.
Yep, that’s right. I know where it is. And I chase after it every day. Sometimes I have to grab a cup out of someone’s hand and toss the cold water on my face. Sometimes I have to make a pit stop to refuel and change my tires. Sometimes I get pulled over because I was going too fast. But it’s chasing nonetheless. That is my definition – chasing. Come what may, I will chase after what I should; I will chase after what I want.
I need to stop blogging. It makes me think way too much about things.
What I’m listening to: The sound of my TV in the other room.