I'll "Get" You, My Pretty, and Your Little Blog Too...

As much as I wanted to resist the trend of blogging when it was surfacing a few years ago, I think I can now admit that I’ve always enjoyed reading and writing them. I was just resistant because it was popular. I think that’s the same reason I avoided reading any Harry Potter books until about after the third film was made (even when my mom gave one to me for Christmas). In fact, I got an unwanted Harry Potter book on two separate Christmases. I came to find out later that the second incident was just a chance for someone to get rid of his ex-wife’s book. “Great…thanks…” But now, I honestly can say they are entertaining enough, but not my thing.

Oh, yes, so, what I was getting at with the fact that I like reading blogs is that I was the sort of child that practically coveted the idea of journal reading. It was honestly difficult for me to not read my family members' journals. Sad, I know. What’s worse is that I remember the time I cracked. I enjoyed learning that my brother had a crush on the star of the high school musical, yet, I also felt rightfully guilty. Now with people writing blogs, there is no more guilt to be had. The people that write them WANT readers, and comments, and…heck, maybe some of them want web-browsing strangers reading their blogs too (never saw the point of that personally, though). So, that curiosity I had as a child is now somewhat catered. Unfortunately, not enough people I know (care about) write one, and apparently not enough of my good friends and family share my curiosity, and want to read mine.

I was babysitting for my brother Scott the other day, and happened to mention something about my blog. He asked, “So, essentially, it’s a journal?” I hesitated for a sec, and essentially agreed. He seemed uninterested in the idea. Okay, so, that’s fine that he doesn’t care to hear about the life and thoughts of some stranger, but I think something that gets close to the journal of a family member sounds very interesting to read. In fact, at one time I thought it would be cool to be an English teacher, because they get to read so much of their students’ work, and thus get to know them better than the teachers of the other subjects, I would wager. I think that was the case for me. My English teachers seemed to know me pretty well. At least, they seemed to like me pretty well. Anyhow, I’m guessing there must be some people like me, or else there would be no need for those little diaries with the locks on them. I never had one of those. I guess I didn’t mind if someone read what I had to say.

This reminds me of a writing group I was involved with a few years back called Literary Den. I used to spend some time on the Bebo social network, as this is where a good friend (Beanbag Skratchbob) advertised and posted his music. We both ended up posting some of the chapters from books we were working on there as well. By way of that, I joined a small writers group that eventually evolved into Literary Den. As I came to find out, it was mostly a bunch of teenagers. But surprisingly, I enjoyed being a part of it despite the fact. I honestly found it fulfilling to learn about these kids from the UK. I read their stories, gave them feedback, and participated as a moderator for their website. I actually also found myself praying for personal concerns I knew that they were facing. I shared an email with my testimony to one of them, and shared the LDS.org website with another. It was an experience that I would say is completely the opposite of times on Facebook where you make “friends” with a bunch of people you know, but never talk to them.

My Beanbag Skratchbob friend (aka Dave), told me it was a neat service I was giving, reading these kids’ stories while I was at work (some being incredibly long), and getting back to them within a couple days. It didn’t seem that way to me at all. I enjoyed it. I felt that their work deserved some attention and praise after all the time they put into it. They deserved to know that the world was a little bit more aware of them. If that was service, I hope that the many other service opportunities I will have down the line will be so easy and enjoyable.

I admit, I’m not the most charitable person in the world. I am usually fully aware when I am doing service for people. I'm pretty sure there is something about that awareness and the spirit of the act that are incongruous. I need some practice with willingly (and unconciously) extending more service. How do you practice something that you hope to do unconciously? Yes, I ask more questions to avoid doing things...

I guess there is that one strength I may have regarding the matter, that I love getting to know people better. To this aim, it's really pretty fun and enlightening not only to read various writings, but to also inquire after the meaning behind music compositions, and works of art. My nephew Brandon is a pretty amazing artist, and was showing me a notebook full of his drawings. I asked about some of the creatures he had drawn, saying that they reminded me of C.S. Lewis's childhood drawings, as well as old Genesis album covers. Turns out, the creatures were the imagimary friends that he and his brother had as little kids. Honestly, what's more interesting than learning about childhood imaginary friends? Especially when they looked like satyrs and foxes?

I always wanted to have had an imaginary friend! I feel like I wasn't as creative or delightfully crazy (as kids are allowed to be) as I would have liked to be. So, looking at the sketchbook was truly the highlight of that day. Hmm, but perhaps the fact that I actually enjoy that sort of thing makes it, in fact, selfish. Lousy Immanuel Kant! No one is ever good enough according to him!

...well, thanks for reading. I actually started out with something more relevant in mind to say, but ended up with this. This. For your sakes, though, at least you know I like to read your blogs :)