Monday, April 06, 2015

Self-censorship

One of my favorite parts about blogging is that I am writing publicly, not in a notebook that I keep stashed under my bed, and that keeps me accountable.

Not that I think you guys are hanging on my every word or anything, but I wouldn't want to just disappear one day -- whereas any journal that I have ever kept is abandoned after a few weeks, only to be revisited in moments of extreme drama. Not that there is anything wrong with that type of cathartic journaling, but isn't exactly an accurate representation of my life.  

One of my least favorite parts about blogging is that I am writing publicly, not in a notebook that I keep stashed under my bed.

The longer I do this, the more times I am reminded that that a blog is not anonymous the hard and awkward way, the harder writing becomes. Especially since I don't like to tell just my own stories. I have written so much about my sister, my friends and my cousins because they are important to me. The volume I have written in the past makes it hard (and, to be honest, makes it feel a little wrong/disingenuous) not to update you guys on all of the funny/exciting/sad/monumental/interesting/trainwreck/notable things going on in their lives that aren't directly connected to me.

But this is my blog and my story, not theirs, and I am trying to respect that and remember that even though I want to tell you all about my sister's professional successes and post 94 pictures of Lucy's toddlers. Unless it's directly about me, I am attempting to bite my tongue.

Or, more accurately: halt my typing fingers.

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