Webbready

As of late, my schedule has become busier than I would like, yet at the same time, I wonder if it were not better for me to be busy than to linger in idleness. Although I write in this blog for the sheer fun of doing so, I worry that this blog has no redeeming value to sustain its own existence. It is not a cascade of words that derives a meaning from my effervescent expressions. Instead it is defined by its inactivity, and perhaps its utter uselessness to anyone, including myself. I am vexed, because I remember a time when I used to love to write, to tie the luminous, multicolored threads of words into a string, then knit the bundled ball of yarn into a pattern. As I grow older, though, I grow more quiet with regard to the written word.

Part of the problem is that this blog has no focus, which is precisely what I intended. Yet at the same time, it has no character, nothing (other than its self-depreciating tone) that someone could point to and comment, “Ah, now that’s the Rhonda I know.” I suppose the problem is about risk, and the risk that I have taken is to risk nothing at all. Although I have noted in the past my awareness for the need to be careful, it blinded me to another need — the need to share something, be it great or small. I fear I may have been, and still am, too guarded, hoping to hold onto my best material instead of letting it go, and offering it up for judgement.

Yes, this post is rather self-absorbed, and I worry that I will look at these words in a few days and chide myself for whining. The truth is, I need to update this blog more often, and allow myself to find my own voice. Although I intended this blog to reveal as little as I can of myself while writing on a regular basis, I realize now that holding myself back will provide me with the perfect excuse not to write.