Beginnings

I believe in introductions, caveats and disclaimers:

I'm not sure how I feel about viewing blogs or writing them. Yet, I'm no less of a voyeur than the next person. I stick my neck out of the car window to look at accidents, monitor the daily behavioral patterns of my neighbors through my third story windows, actively listen in on conversations in public spaces.

Nor am I any less desiring of human connection-- of me knowing others, but especially of others knowing me. But despite my ever so ordinary tendencies, I still flinch at the anonymous openness involved in blogs, blogging or being blogged (I haven't even learned the correct verbiage yet.. mouses, mice, moose, meese?).

That said, perhaps a blog will open an accessible space for self expression, something I used to be good at, but since having chosen the chaotic life of a union organizer, haven't had time for. A space that sits on my computer screen, where I often eat breakfast, lunch and/or diner. A space that doesn't involve having to dig up my journal from my bedroom and search for a pen.

But, a blog cannot be a substitute for a journal, and maybe that's why I am weary of them. My journal is a protected, closed pocket. It belongs to no one, but myself. It is not false or performative. It is not constructed so as to create a digestible version of myself. My hands are warm inside of my pockets.

But maybe it's worth attempting to open a single pocket to see what falls out.