Three Dots at the End….

I don’t post much.

I write constantly—emails, journals, letters—but I don’t write much for public viewing. The idea of people I don’t know reading my words intimidates me, because my words are so much a part of me, my most private thoughts. Once they’re released, they are no longer my own.

Writing, for me, is catharsis. It is my heartbeat and my shadow, the endless cultivation of my soul. To share what I write is to make myself completely vulnerable—the metaphoric equivalent of taking off all my clothes and standing naked before you, holding out my hand in introduction. I shiver. My heart pounds. I am afraid.

By sharing my private thoughts, I place myself at the mercy of whatever judgment someone chooses to render. I offer myself on the altar of human kindness and hope no one spits on me.

Can you tell I have rejection and abandonment issues?

And so this form of communication, this “weblog” I choose to share, is not only an account of the development of my children and a story about a SAHM at the turn of the century, it’s a personal risk I’m taking. One that feels worth taking, I think, because of the incredible people I’ve discovered through blogging—people I would never have met otherwise.

Incredible humans with fascinating stories and perspectives. Delightful humor. Hard-won wisdom. Radical honesty. People I am humbled to call friends, proud to be associated with, grateful to learn from. Life-altering connections formed through nothing more than words on a screen.

Still, it’s a little scary.

Blog. Weblog. Web log. We blog.

We blog to connect. To communicate. To express. To learn. To grow. To become. To touch another human life, to be a catalyst for change, to leave a mark in a world that will one day continue without us.

We blog for each other.

How lucky we are to have this opportunity.