Blogatrophy and BFFs

Warning: Late-night, non-spellchecked rambling ahead. 

atrophy:  partial or complete wasting away of a muscle or part of the body.

When I first started this blog, I wondered a few things. Like, would I consistently have anything to talk about? Would I stay with it? Would anyone other than the students in my small group, my sisters, and my parents even read it? And--the main one--would my words and intentions some how come out wrong?

I am just about one week shy of my second anniversary of starting this blog.  Honestly? I cannot believe that I've stayed with it so consistently for so long. I mean. . . it's not like I don't stick with things that I start. It's just that writing a blog takes time. If your heart gets into it, which mine absolutely has, you become very particular about its vision and how that translates into the finished product. You learn new tricks and find ways to spruce things up a bit. You go to other blogs and realize how non-schmancy yours is and how few readers you have or things like the fact that you don't blog anonymously and they do.  It's a funny little world, the blogging world.

You make "friends" with folks and share a little pieces of your world with them. Some of these virtual bffs (blog-friends-forever) follow the course of a lot of friendships.  You know. . . . the ones where it seems like, OMG, you have everything in common and you, like, hang out every single day.  Then one day someone says something that lightweight offends the other or they get too comfortable. Someone takes off their shoes and, SHUT UP, their feet stink or somehow some way the discovery is made that those same stinky feet are made of clay. One of you realizes that your friendship involves zero reciprocity and here you are doing all the visiting and sharing when the other has only been to your place like once.

Or it's not that deep. Maybe one bff gets busy or simply has new interests. Your bff used to have mornings open to chill with you over coffee, but now that they had-the-baby, moved-away, got-the-new-job, got-the-new-love, gave-up-electronics, started-a-new-exercise-program, got-in-med-school, finished-med-school. . . . whew. . . there just isn't time any more. See, like real friends, they love you, yes, and will surely text you on your birthday . . . . but as far has LOLing with you all the time, it's here and there.

Eventually life happens and it becomes there more than here.

Some of those bffs don't leave. They roll with the punches and evolve with your evolution and tell people behind your back that you are totally awesome.  They are loyal and consistent, even if they don't bring you flowers (read: comments) on a daily basis, but they are the ones that have you prominently perched in their favorites. In fact, some of them are so low key that you don't even know they have your back until you say or do something particularly vulnerable that makes them remove the invisible cloak for just a moment . . .only to slip back into the google-reader shadows.

It's kind of interesting.

I'm rambling about this because a lot of folks who read blogs don't actually blog. Those who do blog, get this. And those who don't, now you will, too.

Anyways.

Today I was looking at my entries and looking at my blog and asking myself questions. Almost like I was interviewing myself. This kind of blog introspection usually comes at certain points. . . like. . . when you notice that you've lost a follower or two. Or you post what feels like something that everybody and their mama should be high-fiving and relating to you on, but for whatever reason, they don't. It also happens when you check your blog stats and notice that the traffic has lightened up. . . or that your traffic is all from the same Google search that seems to yield one of your images.

Or.

You are feeling blogatrophy. Where you feel like your blogging muscle needs the P90X (or something to make you hotter.)

I've felt all of the aforementioned before. That tiny sting when that public follower clicks "stop following," the happy affirmation nestled inside of a comment, the let down of realizing your traffic is coming from something other than. . . well, you. As a matter of fact, I've felt all of this in the past week.

And so. What generally happens when I am in this place is this:

First, I second-guess everything.  Like. . . not enough medicine stuff?  Too family-oriented? Too spiritual for my agnostic readers? Not spiritual enough for my fellow believers? Too relaxed and non-straightlaced for those who link over from places like ACP Hospitalist or Internist? Too heavy for the ones who linked over from lighter URLs? Too tear-jerky or too preachy? Too goofy or too silly?

Finally, I get myself so wound up that I end with this: Why are you even doing this? Like, who do you think you are? And, like, why is this even important? Really, why are you even doing this?  Like, for real. . . why?

Then, I remember the words of Toni Morrison when she was asked why she wrote her first novel, The Bluest Eye:  

"So I could read it."

I wrote a whole post about this once and today I had to revisit it. I needed to chuck myself under my own chin and  remind myself that every single story helps me to grow and to walk in my purpose. And just maybe, it helps someone else to do the same. Or maybe not. But either way, it gives me a special place to honor my patients and my family and just life in general. Kind of like it let's me live my life like it's golden,  you know? I love the idea of giving someone else the chance to learn the lessons I'm learning and for us to talk about it and think about it together. But again, I write the things I need to read. . . the messages I need to hear. . . sometimes that day, but many times later. I'm sure no one reads this thing more than me.

Thank you for coming, going, staying, and leaving. Thank you for following, just-googling, commenting, lurking, de-lurking, laughing, crying, or whatever it is you do.  Because it's been enough. Enough to push me to keep at it for almost two whole years. To "go hard" (as Harry calls it) and to keep writing here for you to read, too. . . instead of into a Word document only or a spiral notebook on my nightstand.

So yeah.  Thanks.  I mean that, too.

That's all I got today.

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Happy Monday.