Today’s workload did not allow much time for trying something new, looking foolish or even interacting with people. So I think it’s time for another embarrassing admission. They don’t require leaving my office, and I have a handy supply of embarrassing anecdotes from a long and clumsy past.
My initial choice was a first date story, in which I crossed an entire restaurant with toilet paper trailing from my shoe (yes, I did, and yes, there was a second date), but really, that doesn’t sting much and there isn’t much to say beyond giving you the visual.
Instead, I will admit to something that makes me feel as exposed as would a YouTube video of my ample rear end, swathed only in a bathing suit, running down a beach. Here goes: within seven weeks, I have gone from being reluctant to tell people about this blog to REALLY wanting them to read it. I check the site’s traffic stats often, sometimes several times a day. See, embarrassing!
I blame the few people who are reading it and encouraging me to continue. Receiving compliments for something you care about is a bit like a heroin hit (I imagine): euphoric and addictive. (By the way, thank you, kind friends.)
Copping to any ambition for this blog feels ridiculous. Who do I think I am, anyway? But I want people to read it. More than that, I want them to like it.
Could I be any more needy?
I suppose the real question is: should I try for a larger audience, or just concentrate on my daily challenges for the sake of my own personal growth? I know what the healthy answer is.
I’m just not sure what mine is.