A lot of people stop by here now, for many random reasons. They google something, then they find something quirky about my writing and end up sticking around.
As you know (or maybe you don’t), writing is like this giant force in my life. It’s hard for me to fathom that my next-door neighbor, or the lady upstairs or the guy down the hall or I’ll bet just about everyone who works in the Housing Authority office spends less than 1% of their time writing. It’s hard for me to grasp their lives are like.
I mean, put their lives on a pie graph, and you see a different picture than if you put my life on a pie graph.
As I figure it, based on what I can hear through the walls, my next door neighbor’s pie graph consists of about 30% to 50% of her pie, or possibly far more, maybe 2/3, filled with “TV.” I assume a certain amount is “sleep,” probably the time that that TV isn’t on.
I’d say that for the people who work in the Housing Authority office, you figure they work 4o hours a week, so would that be maybe 30% of the pie spent commuting to and from, filling out forms, answering phones, data entry, and of course correcting the various errors that were already put in. I suspect the administration does about the same thing as the clerical workers do, with a bit more PR and vetoing power. Do they ever actually write? Naw. Just brief memos. And that’s one of those pains in the butt.
Of course, I have no clue if anyone here in this building or that I see around me actually keeps a journal or blog or is writing a creative endeavor of any type.
What my point is, really, is how much of an elephant is your writing in YOUR life?
As I said, my writing has been a driving force, I’d say, since 1998. This is what makes me a writer. Of course, before that, I did quite a bit of writing, too.
I’d say, though, it went from “serious hobby” to “driving force” around 1998 and that hasn’t changed.
I don’t think I chose this path necessarily. I found myself on this not-so-well-traveled, rocky road after blindly stumbling around in the dark. I dusted myself off and made the decision to keep at it.
Musicians do music. Actors get on stage and momentarily become someone else. I’m not at all sorry I’m here. In fact, I’m delighted.
I’d say blogging has changed me. I’d say writing changes me and makes me a person who is always changing and I am a person open to change, because I am always writing. I learn by writing.
I titled this entry “My blog and my secrets.” You may be wondering what the “secret” part is. There’s a bit of a misconception about me going around that I heard a while back (this quite a bit ago, in fact) that I “tell all” or “reveal everything” or that “Julie Greene’s life is an open book.” Folks think that all they have to do is to click on “Julie Greene’s blog” to find out what’s going on with me.
I doubt that’s true of any blogger. It’s physically impossible. Think about it. Nor can you “tell all” to any therapist or to your spouse. And I certainly wouldn’t encourage you to do so. If any therapist demands that you tell them EVERYTHING, please, go elsewhere.
We humans have a need for privacy. That’s one of the many reasons why we wear clothes. That’s one of the many reasons why we stand or sit a certain distance away from each other when we speak to each other, instead of smack against each other like sardines, if we have a choice. That’s why we go to the bathroom within enclosure and have sex in privacy, too.
Ever notice that you go to a drugstore and something called a “diary” has a lock on it? A real physical lock, even now, in 2013? Anne Frank died a long, long time ago, and yet, diary-writing remains conceptually the same. It’s private. There’s all kinds of journaling software you can buy and if you read the ads for it, there’s talk of “password protection” and the ability to keep our words to ourselves.
Do you think I’m any different just because I blog? That I bear all, and all my life is viewable to public scrutiny and not only that, googlable?
“Going public,” for anyone, is a brave move. However, as I said, it’s physically impossible to turn your whole life over and make it viewable. There’s always going to be that dark, unseen side. The part the sun nor the moon get a chance to shine on.
I cherish that dark side of me. I’m glad it’s there. This morning I woke up and told myself how much I love my secrets. I told myself I was okay. I told myself I felt truly secure and cozy right where I am. No one has to know where that is, which is fine by me.