The Lives We Lead
March 30, 2010
I want to thank those of you that left comments and wrote to me off line about my last few posts. I really thought long and hard about whether I should do the last post and exactly what I should say.
The reality of life online is that we do think that we know others as intimately as their posts appear to reveal themselves. But how many of us really represent to the online community our true selves, warts and all? For that matter, how many people truly represent to the world their true nature in all aspects in real time? When I go to work everyday, I don't spend the day cataloging all my problems to my coworkers. My family would probably say that I am a nicer person to my coworkers than I am to them at times because I can keep my temper and act professionally, and not whine and complain as much as I do at home.
In writing my own blog, I am always aware of "eyes" looking over my shoulder. Everyone in my family reads my blog, so I certainly do censor what I reveal about them and about my relationships with them. My children are grown and I can't write about their problems or our relationship issues as frankly as I might have ten years ago. My 85 year old mother reads my blog, so I there are issues I never write about because I wouldn't want to alarm her. I also am very conscious that I write a column for a national magazine. Readers come here to learn more about me and to be entertained. I won't say that I have an "image" to keep up, but I would never write anything that would embarrass the magazine.
Aside from all that, why I am here? I started a blog as a means to write everyday. I have always been a writer and when I discovered the online communities about 15 years ago, my life as a writer opened up. How thrilling to write, press publish, and have instant feedback! And the other side of it is: how scary to write, press publish, and have instant feedback! Really to entertain and share with you. My readers are not my therapists, my confessors, or my social workers. I wouldn't expect or want that. And I am quite sure that 99% of other bloggers share my feelings.
Despite being very conscious of all these factors even when I read others' blogs, I still believe the fiction of what we represent to the world. There are blogs I read that are completely superficial and highly entertaining - like junk food for the mind. There are blogs I read that are very heartfelt and emotional, and I know I will be moved when I am there. There are blogs that are written by Writers with a capital "W" with whom I have wonderful email exchanges. Other blogs are like magazines - filled with gorgeous photography, whether original or cannibalized from magazines or other sites. They are just eye candy that make me smile. I read blogs of friends and people who have become friends. Sometimes I know a little bit more of what is happening behind the scenes than the blogger may let onto the general public. Many of these people I've even met in real life.
But do I still presume that I know who they are and what their lives are really like? Never. Writing a blog is like writing a continuing memoir and I can assure you that all memoir is shaped to present a storyline that is under almost the total control of the memoirist.
Regardless of all this, I read your blogs because I love your lives. I love the life you chose to write about and to present to me. They are lovely lives, funny lives, hardworking lives. They have lives full of family, work, craft, art, writing, shopping, and entertaining. They are blogs that give me wonderful book tips; remind me of my life as a young mother and wife; blogs that give me inspiration to redo a room or cook a new dish, or call my mother and tell her that I love her. There are blogs that make me cry, that I obsessively check to make certain that the blogger is well. There are blogs that are spread across the parts of the country that have lived in and let me know what is going on.
But most of all, the blogs I read are people whose lives I am fascinated with. How wonderful to check in with a fabric designer who is raising a family from 6 months old to college age. Or a woman who lives in Germany and always makes me laugh. Or a former Cape Codder who now thrives in Florida. I read blogs by dog trainers; by women who creates poetry from cloth; who paint pictures I drool over; who cook the dishes I wish I had the imagination to make; who work magic in art and travel journals: who make me dream of macaroons and cafe au lait; who cross stitch museum-quality samplers; who garden, paint, style, design, make jewelry, sing, write, and make art, give beauty advice, decorating advice, and lives in countries I can only dream of.
I would like to think that all these women (and it seems they are all women) would feel comfortable and accepted if they wanted to write: I am depressed, I am scared, I am very, very alone and very, very anxious. I need help.
And I hope that one of us would find a way to write, call, email, and say: you are not alone. We don't expect sunshine and roses everyday. We know you are a real, flesh and blood person with the same problems that we have. We love you anyway. We are here for you. As I know you are here for me.