I’ve always had a very distinct line between what I blog about and what I don’t. The difference is always crisp and clear in my own mind but I’ll admit it’s rather hard to explain. The distinction has to do with which stories are mine to tell. You’ll notice my rants and musings rarely feature other people, or when they do it’s only in passing. Wherever possible I make the post about me. I tell my side of the story and leave other perspectives on the side line because, at the end of the day, mine is the only story I have the right to tell.
In some ways I guess this is a slightly selfish way to approach writing, but blogging is an essentially introverted sort of media. Very rarely have I wondered whether or not I should put something online. The ideas that I err upon tend to be vetoed fairly rapidly; if the line isn’t clear, if I’m unsure, it probably isn’t a blog which should be posted.
This year I’ve found this rule rather difficult. I’ve never faltered, I’m still sure the line is in the right place, but there have been a lot more times when I have decided I don’t want to share. Lately I’ll have a thought and, for a moment, my brain will pipe up: “that could be a blog”. But instead of scribbling the idea down in the blogging section of my notebook, I’ll dismiss it.
It’s not that less had happened to me. Quite the opposite. Compared to last year, 2012 has been a veritable mine-field of epiphanies. Just not ones I’ve had the urge to tell you about.
A lot of authors say that once a work is finished it doesn’t belong to you anymore, it belongs to your audience. The thing about blogging is that, in a very real sense, you are that work. It’s your own insights and life experience that you’re surrendering.
There are moments in life you want to share, moments you want to preserve, to put in a jar and keep forever, perched on a shelf for all to see. Even if the act of preserving changes it a little, makes it a slightly different colour and texture. Even if it doesn’t look quite the same. Because it’s words now isn’t it? Words that belong to the internet and not to me. That doesn’t necessarily ruin a memory, or make it less important, but it does make it different.
Sometimes I find myself wanting to keep a thought hidden. Some moments I want to store in a box at the bottom of the cupboard, wrapped in tissue paper like they do to lace dresses in movies. You get to see these memories less because they’re delicate. They haven’t been strengthened by the act of remembering, of recording. You tuck them away and allow them to be delicate, to be fleeting. These are the memories that surprise you because you forget they exist. Then you’ll be riffling through the cupboard on a rainy day and there they are, tucked in tissue.  
Lately I’m seeing the value of fleeting memories. Maybe the line has shifted slightly. Maybe I want to record different things than I did when I started this blog. Or maybe it’s my life that’s shifted. And blogging is just taking a little while to catch up.  

Further reading

December – home

I spent the first minutes of 2018 on the beach. I’ve never actually spent New Year