I realized, browsing around the web, that I am merely one of millions who blog, who tweet, who share their lives with others they may not even or ever know. So?
I know that I am not a great writer. I am not even a commercially successful writer, nor do I aspire to be so. I only occassionally reach a good quality in my writing. Most of it is mundane, and inane.
And that's fine with me. My writing reflects who I am. Mundane and inane are good descriptions.
But I read other blogs. Someone removing their (almost) adult child from an abusive relationship; a parent whose child was on a school trip to the Korean War memorial when one of the soldiers pictured there rolled up in his wheelchair; big things, important things.
My life is not important.
I said, before my mother died that I did not know when I would be ready to write about my mother. I believe that the answer is never. My personal relationships are just that - personal. I have neither the need nor the inclination to place my personal feelings on display.
I had thought that I moght start positng more after my mother's death. Now, I believe I am likely to be posting less.
I will still find the occasion to discuss food and cooking. THAT is important. But my life, my actions, my thoughts, my feelings. They are MINE, and I will only share them whith whom I wish, when I wish.
