Last week I spoke with a friend who lives out of state, one I don’t talk to often enough for reasons that aren’t nearly good enough. But, she reads this blog. She was telling me that she loves to read it, that she felt like she got to be here when I finally gave Mom her quilt and for the little life stuff you miss when you are away. And then she said “it’s so nice, you sound so happy.”
I’ve been thinking about that comment a lot since she said it. I am happy. My life is good, and I have no room to complain. This morning I woke up in a soft bed snuggled next to a husband I enjoy being with, listening to the contented snores of my dog. I poured a cup of coffee and took it out in to the yard to water the plants I have the joy of growing. I came in to an office full of people I like to do a job I feel passionately about and am good at. I don’t earn what my degree says I should, but I have the luxury of working at the job I love anyway because my life is pretty straightforward and my husband is incredibly supportive. What do I have to complain about?
That said, I do complain. Just ask my husband! The last few weeks, when I was well outside of my comfort zone at work, I complained plenty. I complained about my fear of failing at the task, about how beat up my body felt from the tension, and about things that shouldn’t have rated a complaint but did because I was so anxious. My husband walked on egg shells, trying to be understanding and biting his lip when I was… less than understanding.
Now, I’m not criticizing myself for not knowing how good I have it. I do appreciate my life, and I know the complaints are just human nature. What I was thinking about is that I do not write about that stuff here. I could have written about being outside my comfort zone at work. In fact, I almost did, and then I realized it wasn’t interesting to anyone but me and not even really to me. But, the night one (or both) of us is being unreasonable, is not the night to type an entry. The day I come home from work thinking “I might as well be a kindergarten teacher, because I supervise a bunch of five year olds” is not the day either. I write this blog mostly for myself, as a journal I can look back at and reminisce over. But, it is a very public journal and my private life doesn’t belong on it. Other people’s private lives most especially don’t belong here.
I think bloggers forget that sometimes. They sit in the privacy of their home writing, and they forget that this is more like standing in the middle of the town square shouting. Heck, its more like taking out billboards all over the world. As I’ve started reading blogs, I’ve seen entries that make me wince and immediately navigate away. Some blogs are so full of these entries that I never read them, no matter how many people link to them.
So, I’m glad that my blog sounds happy to my friend. I am happy. Very happy. But, those moments that aren’t so happy? You won’t be reading about many of them here.
(And, S? I didn't miss the hint about how you look for your quilt to show up on the blog. I bought the interfacing Saturday. You should see signs of it appearing soon. I mean, its only been a year.)