An acquaintance of mine said a pretty hurtful thing to me tonight. After hearing that I write this blog, getting a very brief overview of what I blog about, and undoubtedly misunderstanding what I was telling her, she said, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
Coming from this lady, a blunt, ignorant, hurtful comment such as this was not a surprise. Usually I try (hard) to let her remarks roll off me, but this one really smarted. I’ve always been the kind of sensitive, emotional person that cares about what people think and — even if I don’t like the person — let their opinions affect how I feel.
I didn’t even try to explain to her what this blog means to me.
She will never know that this blog is a lifeline between myself and my immediate family living 400 miles away. Even though we don’t talk nearly as much as I would like, my dad or my brother or my best friends can check in on purple pixie any time of the day or night and see what Violet and I have been up to this day.
This lady obviously doesn’t see how similar this blog is to the scrapbooks that she works to create on the occasional Tuesday night. I cherish the record of our incredibly ordinary days — days that I would surely forget the precious details of within a week. Sometimes I find myself running from one task to the other, leaving things unfinished because something more pressing comes up. This blog is a permanent reminder of all the wonderful moments that my often-hazy mind would otherwise lose. I love re-reading past posts.
She doesn’t understand that I often go days without seeing more than two other people. I love it when strangers click “like” on my blog and I become nearly ecstatic when they leave comments. (ask my husband)
How could she know that when I was younger, all I did was write? Poems, short stories, novellas… I filled notebook after notebook with words. My dream was to be a writer when I “grew up.” Somewhere the writer in me got lost. I all but stopped writing. Maybe I was (am) afraid. Afraid of writing what I really wanted to write. Afraid of what those damn “other people” would think. I am still struggling with that one. But this blog is slowly helping me to learn how to write again.
This acquaintance of mine will never know any of these reasons why I blog. In the instant after her words struck and stung me, I felt a sharp stab of anger and then… acceptance. I counted the moments until I was home again with laptop on and humming. I don’t have anything “better” to do, so I’m going to blog about it!