I’m coming up on five years of blogging in one form or another, after which you’d think I’d have the hang of it, right?
Not really.
I’m still confronted with crippling doubts every time I sit down to write, wondering: Is it good enough? I know that’s my perfectionism speaking, but it’s still there, preventing me from simply writing and publishing. But is that all, or is there more to it? I reckon there is.
After I sat down and thought[1] about it, I realized what it was: my expectation of what a blog was supposed to be was completely wrong. I thought blogs s…
I’m coming up on five years of blogging in one form or another, after which you’d think I’d have the hang of it, right?
Not really.
I’m still confronted with crippling doubts every time I sit down to write, wondering: Is it good enough? I know that’s my perfectionism speaking, but it’s still there, preventing me from simply writing and publishing. But is that all, or is there more to it? I reckon there is.
After I sat down and thought[1] about it, I realized what it was: my expectation of what a blog was supposed to be was completely wrong. I thought blogs should be perfected pieces of content, crafted word-by-word by experts on profound subjects offering novel insights. I was wrong—so wrong. Yet I couldn’t be happier about it.
A happy little accident from my recent write-up on moving back to the small web was that I found a bunch of interesting blogs during my research. These blogs were run by individuals, and they had no other motive than sharing their thoughts with the world. The posts had no paywalls, no search engine optimization, nor were they polished to perfection. No, they were just raw human experiences, and boy, did I love that. It turns out they’re a lot more interesting.
The stark contrast to what I was used to got me questioning: What is a blog, really?
I realized my view was strongly influenced by what I was exposed to: the commercial web. Yet here were these personal blogs, which showed me that a blog could be whatever you want it to be. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it can have spelling mistakes, ideas don’t have to be research-backed[2], no it can be much simpler than that. It can simply be a place where you share your thoughts[3]. It’s a conversation you have with anyone who cares to read it.
Pondering this question caused me to stumble upon a deeper one yet: Why do I blog?
At first, my reasons were career-driven: I wanted to share knowledge in the open and build reputation. Those reasons are still valid, but just as my blog is constantly under construction[4], my motivations for blogging have also evolved.
Now, my primary motivation is my love for writing[5]. I love how it helps me figure out my own thoughts, how it hones them, and how it helps me explore them in greater depth. Through writing, I scrutinize my thoughts, critique them, and it has even proven to be an effective process of self-discovery[6].
You could then ask: If writing is so helpful in itself, why publish it for the world to see?
I’ve asked myself that question many times. Again, one of the posts I found made me realize what it was: learning in the open. Writing for an audience, even a hypothetical one[7], forces me to do a better job and push myself further than I would otherwise. That’s where the magic of creation lies—when you push your boundaries. It’s when I write things I never thought I could, things I look back on with awe. And every time I reread one of those pieces, a little bit of that feeling comes back to me, filling me with joy and excitement.
Sharing your thoughts publicly[8] also opens it up to affect the lives of others. You never know what your words might set off in another human being. It might even help you find like-minded people[9]. By hoarding your darlings[10], you prevent all those possibilities from ever coming to fruition.
Having written all this, I can finally say: Yes, I’m finally getting this blogging thing right. It turns out it should simply be what I want it to be. That is enough.
Well, wrote about it. These days, whenever I want to think about something, I write down my thoughts. ↩︎ 1.
Though it should be well thought out and critically examined. ↩︎ 1.
This post by Barry Hess made a big impact on me. It is a short post, but it completely shifted my perspective on what a blog can be. Another valuable read, was this one by Ben Werdmuller. Not only does it give a short and sweet introduction to blogging, it’s history, but also this:
What you shouldn’t worry about is whether what you’re sharing is valuable. If you want to share it, it’s inherently valuable: a reflection of who you are and how you think about the world.
Which was exactly what I needed. ↩︎ 1.
Sophie Koonin wrote a lovely post about the imperfections of personal websites and viewing them as a process, rather than a result. ↩︎ 1.
Although it can also be the worst thing in the world when the results don’t turn out the way you wanted them to be. ↩︎ 1.
Which is pretty meta, because this very post helped me uncover my reasons for blogging at a more fundamental level. ↩︎ 1.
Because who knows if this will ever be read by anyone other than me. ↩︎ 1.
It goes without saying that I mean well-intentioned, deliberate thought, not the hateful stuff the internet has more than enough of. ↩︎ 1.
I loved this post by Henrik Karlsson on how a blog can be seen as a way to find like-minded people across the internet. ↩︎ 1.
I liked Ray’s post on the subject. Instead of hoarding your ideas or deleting them, he argues you should share them instead, no matter how incomplete. That way, others can grow them further. ↩︎
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