I am a creature plagued by introspection. Be it behind the lens or in front of a crowd, I sometimes think I think too much. This, of course, makes me no smarter than the next guy. One sweeping glance at my marginal high school performance proves that. But there something inside my head that won’t shut up; a wry monotone voice offering ceaseless commentary and half-formed idioms. Perhaps I read too much as a child (we non-athletes will do that), maybe I submitted to one too many head x-rays (what was a bored gurney-jockey to do?), perchance I shouldn’t have memorized all those cereal boxes at the breakfast table. Whatever the reason, the reflective mechanism within my skull is permanently set at 11.
Which brings me to my blog, a work-in-progress I’ve done more reviewing of than adding to lately. Ouch. Re-reading one’s own work is always painful, especially when its in the hastily-typed, unpolished form of a web-log. I’m not here to make excuses, exactly - but on perusing much of written over the past nine months, I’d like to take a third of it back. Not forever, mind you - just long enough to excise some of the navel gazing, omit a bit of the bitterness, maybe clean up a few clichés. But then I guess it wouldn’t be a blog, would it? After all, these wondrous creations are by nature amorphous chronicles, cyber diaries of the great unwashed, replete with invective, pet photos and the occasional misspelling. Judged by those standards, I guess I’m doing okay.
Still, a recent post by a fellow blogger got me to thinking: Why AM I doing this? Why do I cap off my days of frustration by spelling it out for the world (or at least a very small slice of it) to see? I can’t say I really know. When I began this endeavor, I was merely on the hunt for more eyeballs. Little did I know I’d stumble onto a revolution. Since first committing my thoughts to cyberspace, I’ve made scores of new friends, enjoyed surprising conversations with old ones and reluctantly joined something larger - a movement far more significant than my own tortured confessions. Along the way, I’ve written more than I ever thought possible, even when - like now - I didn’t have an awful lot to say. I guess that makes me the average blogger: a slightly addled, narcissistic wordsmith who merely likes the sound of his own computer keyboard late late at night.
So, motivations (and site meter addictions) aside, I hereby pledge to continue firing off epistles into the blogosphere. Though I cannot vouch for the merit of everything I post, I’m in way too deep to stop now. But please forgive me if I occasionally veer off from sordid tales of the road to indulge in a little curbside self-absorption. Allow me the mixed metaphor, the half-baked thesis, the rambling diatribe best left unshared. You see, I’m just a cynical photog fending off a mid-life crisis with the power of the written word. If that alone is the end result of all this compulsive effort, then I’ll deem this little experiment a success. As to my half dozen faithful readers, I thank you from the bottom of my crusty heart and promise NOT to highlight the past nine months worth of signature blather and hit the ’delete’ button.
Not yet, anyway.