There is something bold about a blog. Not in the sense that a blog is unique—there are hundreds of thousands of bloggers around the world—but there is an inherent pride that assumes people desire to know about my day-to-day life.
I am a chronic self-narrator. I say out loud what other people just do naturally: “I’m going to cook dinner now,” or “I’m heading to the bathroom” when most people simply go about those tasks. Facebook and Twitter are Temptation Island for self-announcing-type-personalities. We’ve all encountered it—a person laments his recent boil outbreak in a comment on your Facebook wall, or a new mother recounts her child’s last bowel movement with accuracy only matched by National Geographic narrators. You know whether your friend had her Diet Coke fix for the day, or whether she is wearing leggings to class or not.
Likewise, I don’t pretend to assume that you want to know what ice cream I had at Bev’s today, or whether I wore a scarf despite the unseasonably warm weather, or that I hate when I can’t find a parking spot in the Fan. In fact, I’ve been in communication rehab for quite sometime now, bringing myself to understand that menial tasks are not made substantive by publicity.
These are everyday events of my life but on their own are devoid of meaning. As isolated events, they are strings of happenings that are not much unlike everyone else’s existence. I am not writing this blog because my life alone is one of unique greatness. Instead, I am starting this journey because I have learned that some words are worth writing, some truths worth pursuing.
As I work through my life that seems to be oozing with redundant simplicity, I pray that these small domestic tasks, hilarious mistakes, and hurtful actions that I may tell you about will be written in such a way as to point to how God is redeeming me daily—in simple, everyday, but nonetheless miraculous ways.