I’ve been juggling with the idea of posting, for the last two weeks. Many subjects could be covered, dissected and generally, as it often is the case with me, reflected upon, even from a deep, dark, almost bizarre angle no one – not that I know of, anyway – had thought of before.
The fact is, despite possessing an ever increasing archive of information in my mind from which to draw for a million posts, I have been avoiding to question myself where the
writer blogger ends and the person begins, or continues to be; How much information I should disclose in a blog and how I should treat it. Now, in order to understand all this rambling something must be said, and I know the following may qualify as too much information:
I went back to Denmark*… and Sweden, mind you. As a result, in the past two months or so I lived some of the most incredible, positive and freeing experiences, along with some of the most excruciatingly painful and challenging ones. Out of all of them, my ‘other’ self – that being the one who judges everything from the outside, as a narrator would – managed to compile enough material for a book or two, or three if I count all the food I ate and all that could be said about it. Hence the questions above, for most of what I could blog about has to do, in one way or another, with people and situations I am having a hard time dealing with, and which result very personal, very ‘intimate’.
It is true that I normally process thoughts, events and even emotions through writing. Seen in that light, my posts might result somewhat therapeutic, easing the grieving, self analyzing process I find myself in right now. However, they could also mutate into a quick, superfluous quest for the limelight. If I were to blog about all the things I want to blog about, would I be abusing these experiences and myself ? treating them with little respect? dismissing their true impact in my life? In fact, do I really need to blog about them? What stops me from simply writing my thoughts on a notebook as I’ve countless times before have done?
I don’t know. There is a special appeal to blogging/writing, for more than oneself. So much so, I am even posting this dilemma for ‘everyone’ to see. Perhaps it’s the inner drive, the writer’s gene that tells many of us our ideas
need to must be shared with the world. Perhaps it’s the thought that, by making my struggles public I am, somehow on a cosmic level, stewarding well the hand I’ve been dealt; making the world a better place or something… I feel the urge to write while at the same time question whether I am elevating myself above reality, deeming it all too important for people out there to read my ramblings, as if otherwise I’d be depriving the universe of something vital and irreplaceable. This sentiment may also permeate other areas of life, which brings me to yet another question; Has the wide and relatively easy access to blogs and blogging, turned us humans, into more egocentric, self overrated beings who gradually care less about the quality and quantity of what we share through the cyber space?
Anyway, I am now genuinely puzzled and curious as to how all those people publishing their memoirs manage to choose the information to divulge, while keeping a minimum sense of dignity and respect to themselves and others.
I am yet to learn the art of ‘self-revealing’, so aside from a few entries about very ‘neutral’ subjects, I suppose there will continue to be silence on this blog, which is a shame because, really, there is much ‘good stuff ‘ to be typed out. Nonetheless I owe memories and people – myself included – some silent reverence for the time being.
If you’re out there reading, what do you think? Where’s the fine line between personal and public matters? Have you ever used personal information, relations or events to somehow gain a spot under the limelight, and how did that make you feel? Why does anyone feel the urge to ‘vent’ her oh-so-great life on a blog? (which is what most of us bloggers do, truth be told)
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*Should I change my blog’s name? “My life a.b.b.d” (My life after being back in Denmark) or something? I don’t know. I guess it can stay as is. Despite Heraclitus’ wisdom, no man crosses the same river twice, I’ll assume my life will always be before and after Denmark. Yes, even if it’s twice after it.