This week I had breakfast with a young, talented woman. I had reached out to her because during our brief time working together I had been impressed by her intellect, the way she worked through challenging interactions and her attitude. She reminded me of a younger version of me. Anyway, I invited her to breakfast to focus on her potential and let her know I was in her fan club.
And then I spent 45 minutes talking about myself.
I told her about my musings around my “20-year year” — how 2015 is the 20th anniversary of my graduation from Smith and of my marriage. I talked about my love of writing, abandoned after failing to get into a creative writing class my first year in college. I shared my thoughts on the value of learning versus the value of a degree. I told her about golden shackles, leaving Ford and higher education and my dreams of getting a PhD someday. And after I had unpacked enough of me to fill a small steamer trunk she asked me an interesting question.
“So, do you blog?”
Huh. No, I don’t blog.
Bloggers have something important to say. They have adoring fans. They get retweeted, reblogged and quoted in the media. Bloggers are famous. I’m not a blogger, I’m just a woman who overshares on Facebook. But there she was, asking me with sincerity if I blogged. Like maybe I should blog. Like maybe she thought I had something interesting to share — or maybe she just thought it would be easier on the world if I typed my thoughts onto the World Wide Web instead of rambling on over toast and yogurt. Either way, I came home and opened a WordPress account and started typing.
Do I blog? I guess I do.