For the past ten years, I have been using Facebook. Quite regularly. My son created my profile and chose a flattering photo, which to date remains my profile picture. If I could easily edit it and add 2008 to it, I’d feel better. Because it’s my best. But my intent is not to trick anyone into thinking I am a decade younger. Not once have I contemplated updating it with a more recent, “broader”version of my face, or adding any sort of filter to indicate my support for a specific occurrence.
I am limited to sharing my thoughts to a few witty words that rhyme, or a sentence or two. For when I had more to say, I felt like I was being scolded by Facebook for breaking it’s laws of brevity. Every long post was promptly truncated visually and replaced with a “Read More”. Which made me feel like I am asking too much of my friends.
Soon, the emphasis of my posts turned to the scenery behind me, or carefully curated smiles.
To blog, I presumed, one needs to be an authority on a specific aspect of life. I had no such expertise to share. However, I recently learned that there are 173 million online blogs, and so many articles encouraging me to write about what I’m passionate about. And to accommodate to be revenue generating. The thing is I won’t focus on any desired outcome of my written expression.
I have to say – writing in journals on beautiful paper with a beautiful bold, blue, ink pen is a far more sensorily rewarding experience.