Some thoughts on blogging...

"Dance like nobody's watching, love like you've never been hurt.
Sing like nobody's listening, live like it's heaven on earth." -- Mark Twain

I have heard this quote years ago but didn't know who wrote it, so I decided to google it today to find who the author is. According to Wikipedia, Mark Twain was an American humorist, satirist, lecturer and writer. But anyways, I am going to apologize to him and make a little modification to his above quote:

"Dance like nobody's watching, love like you've never been hurt.
Sing like nobody's listening, live like it's heaven on earth. Write like nobody is reading"

We, humans have an inherent desire to express ourselves and we do it by talking, speaking, writing and thinking. And it looks like Christians have a lot more to express due to the fact that their true humanity has been restored by the work of Christ. If we don't express, who will?

But I shy away from expressing myself naked (on an emotional level) when I know people are watching (reading). In other words, I would express myself better in a personal journal which I know for sure nobody (not even my wife!) is going to read (ever!). Why? I don't want my negatives to be known and noticed. But at the same time I like to read the honest, raw, expressing, shameless, outspoken writings. Only then I can relate to my own struggles.

A quote from Anne Lamot on writing:

"The very first thing I tell my new students on the first day of the workshop is that good writing is about telling the truth"

If we can't tell the truth, it is better not to write. It is when a Christian comes and tells me that he struggles with atheism (at times), I can relate.

Bird by bird...

When I have a lot of things to say, I feel overwhelmed, and it kind of makes me immobilized unless I break it into little pieces and take piece by piece.

Another excerpt from Anne:

"Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at that time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he'd had three months to write. [It] was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said, 'Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.'"