And now my good friend James, who may be a regular contributor to this blog:
So, my friend Daniel says to me "James, I'm thinking of doing a blog, and if you want to write something, send it on over." Ok, I'm lying; I can't really remember how the conversation actually went, but the moment comes (and for me It has me, I don't have It) and in order for me to get to what I want to write about, the writer in me demands an introduction, no matter how poorly done. "Who is this random guy, isn't this Daniel's blog? Bad form, I say." The point is, according to my narrative, he asked me, and with my tongue happily extended in none-too-subtle mockery I will segue into... blogging.
Why blog is an excellent question, but even before that I like to ask what blogging is. I don't have an answer, and this is all rhetorical, so I also would not like definitions of blogging sent mysteriously to me by way of poor friend Daniel. I have things to write about, like all of us have things to write about, think about, dream about. Want is what I'm talking about here. For the person who blogs to voice his or her gripes, either because their expectations are disappointed or because they wish to arouse the suspicions of an invisible readership that there are, in fact, things out there in the world to be upset about, it remains about want, Want and it's ability to make us speak, as eloquently or discouragingly in such a way that we would be emotional enough to share it with the entire world.
Want. I'm 26, which, according to my immense library of experience means to me that I'm standing at the crossroads where I understand now that my decisions, habits, and behavior will determine greatly (like each minute tick of the second hand added together) how close I get to what I want for myself, because it's still under scrutinizing argument whether or not actually getting what one wants is a good or bad thing. So, I'm trying to be careful, and I was born neurotic, so that means I'm going crazy paying attention to every little thing (like each minute tick of the second hand) and even more so remembering every little thing. And right about here is where I put in a D&D reference in my first draft (I'm lying, there aren't drafts, but the lie served itself); it related to digressing in 5 foot step increments until falling to my demise. That is to say, I want a lot, and I have to be honest and realize that each of them isn't vital, or overly important, somewhere on the list of things I want, I'll admit, is one of those nifty cell phones with the touch screens and the keyboard and the minutes that start at 7pm and I really don't need one of those. My thumbs are much too big and my mind much too prioritizing to read any sort of instruction manual that doesn't have pictures and is less than 20 pages. I wish someone smart at one part had said something about "through imagining comes the understanding one can use not only to define but divine a phenomenon" but there wasn't; I made that up just now.
That is to say, I think I figured out what blogging is, and I think I figured out why a person should blog.
But, sifting around in my thoughts and desires, and this stuff on my desk, I found a photograph of three young children, each with timid, confused eyes and unsure bottom lips, looking into the lense a little curious and a little brave. I know them, of them. And they know me; sometimes they come over and ask me questions and borrow my things, break them and give them back. I'm their cousin, Big James, and they don't have a father. I want them to be as great as they can't imagine; I understand this process is long, complex, and what they see me do and say comprises one set of bricks to cobble the way that will surmise the stairways of their lives, but I Want to own that, almost, I think, more than anything. I Want to be responsible for that which they seem me go, to be successful so that they will know that it is possible for them to follow, and to surpass, what I have done, and to convey that they are the reasons why.
And right up until then I was having a pretty bad day.