We were with people last night that we hadn’t seen for a while, and after walking and talking to our destination, I half-jokingly said “well since all I’ve done is talk about myself, what’s going on with you!?” And her counterpart said “you have a blog. Anyone that has a blog loves to talk about themselves.” Despite having brought the topic to light, my insides lit up a bit and it took my ego some work not to defend itself.
It’s true. I have a blog, and I love to talk about myself. But this comment made me really think. Do I have a blog because I like to talk about myself? Why do I have a blog? (Something I have not ironically been thinking about more seriously over the last few months, as it had started to become more of a chore and a to-do than an inspired act of creative service).
The answer is no: I do not have a blog because I like to
talk about myself. I have a blog because
I know I am more willing to talk about shit that other people aren’t. I have a blog because I know that I have a
way of saying things that resonates with other people. I have a blog because one day long ago,
somebody shared their story with me and it was the first time in my entire
fucking life that I finally felt like I wasn’t alone. So I have a blog to carry out my
responsibility in letting other people know, even if it is just one, that they
aren’t alone, either.
It’s true: we like to talk about ourselves. Humans do, not just bloggers. Bloggers happen to have the courage and confidence and willingness to step out there and shine the light on that want to talk, and thank God because if somebody doesn’t talk, who will? If somebody doesn’t start the conversation, how are we going to connect? If somebody doesn’t start talking about the things that are hard to talk about, how is anybody going to know that they’re not the only ones out there suffering? How is anybody going to know that they’re not alone? If everybody just sits back, hoping for somebody else to fill the silence in the room, how are we ever going to break free?
We won’t. Trust me: I felt vain and important and righteous starting a blog. “Who are you?” my ego said. The real question is though, “who aren’t I?” I know plenty of people throwing words up on a screen. I know plenty of people publishing their thoughts. Why can’t I? Why can’t I take a swing at letting the world know what it really looks like to have demons? Why can’t I take a swing at letting the world know that it doesn’t always look like what you think it does? Why can’t I take a swing at smashing the still lingering stereotype that addiction lives under a bridge in a trench coat without teeth?
Because it doesn’t. It’s right here. It’s short and wild curly hair, nice clothes and a nice home. It’s a successful career and a friendly dog and a brilliant smile. It’s walking next to you on the sidewalk. It’s riding the Metro to work in DC. It’s wildly waving their arms in traffic, at the other person letting everyone in. It’s all of them. Hell, it may even be you.
So, instead of letting everybody else share and tell a story for you, what’s the worst that could happen if you started to tell your own? I have, and it gives me more joy and purpose than I can type that I know I am helping other people.
To you who has thanked me, texted me, written me in thanks and support and “I have always thought I was alone”, thank you. Now it’s your turn to start sharing.