A Blog of One's Own

Why blog? This is the question I've been asking myself for ages. What terrain could I possibly cover that hundreds—or thousands—of bloggers haven’t trodden before me? I still don’t have the answer to that question, but recently the voice in my head has started asking, Why not blog? It started as a whisper, persistent and pestering, and has turned into a constant nag at the edge of my consciousness. Get over yourself, the voice says, stop assuming that what you write has to actually be read by anyone to have meaning and value. Do you think Virginia Woolf wrote letters and journals assuming that they would have a public audience one day? Well, maybe, but look at how she ended up. Who needs that kind of pressure? So, save for the small cadre of dedicated readers who have pledged to believe in me no matter what, I have decided to write for myself.

But the question remains—Why blog? Why not just get a nice, leather-bound notebook, or one of paper hand-made by a local artisan, and keep a journal? The thing is, when I do something that is genuinely just for me, I don’t usually follow through. I have stacks of beautifully bound notebooks, partially filled, that have followed me from home to home and city to city over the years. I've tried, but I’m just not a diarist. So I need the illusion of an audience to keep me going. Does that make me some sort of closeted exhibitionist? That’s probably a topic for another entry. Although, it does seem almost anachronistic, doesn't it, in this age of reality TV and the celebrity overshare, to keep private thoughts private. But the thing is, what I want to write about aren't really private thoughts, per se. What this blog will really be is a kind of scrapbook. A digital memory-keeper.

You see—here comes the first real tidbit about who I am—I have a young son, and as I watch him grow way too quickly, I’m becoming increasingly preoccupied with my memories of him. I want to be sure I do remember—as much as possible. And it’s not just about milestones. Those are things I’m never likely to forget. I’m talking about those quiet times, the simple moments when I feel as though the sun is shining just for us, when I stop to take a breath and fully be with my baby. Because that is the gift that Euan has given me: he has helped me to pause and enjoy the sunshine and simple things. And that’s something I just can’t keep to myself.

Euan--and yes, the legs of the sleepers are way too long!

Along the way I'm sure readers will learn many more things about me and my family, things that aren't necessarily about Euan, but impact and are impacted by the raising of him--like my ongoing battle with Crohn's disease and depression. These are also things that have come to define at least a part of who I am--despite my best efforts to swaddle myself in a comforting sheath of denial. Like it or not, my struggles with my health and well-being are not separate from who I am as wife and mother, and in recent years I've tried to be more open about the challenges I face because the one thing I can say for sure is that there is no power in silence. But there is sunshine to be found in simple things, and I'm trying hard to keep out of the shadows and live in the light.