I very much enjoy blogging. There’s a certain rhythm to posting weekly, and the audience interacts in the blogosphere far more than they do with an art form like books. The problem is that I don’t do much. I have another blog that I use while traveling, and that’s easier. I know what to talk about there: the world and my opinion of it as a first-time visitor. As a student, I’m not so sure. Is my latest choir concert an interesting subject? Does my audience want to hear about how little sleep I’ve been getting? (I know my mother doesn’t.) So while blogging is a good outlet for the words that occasionally well up in the recesses of my mind, my struggle is against… a form of writer’s block.

See, some days the issue is that I don’t know what to write. And some days the problem is that I don’t know how much to write. There’s a fine line between journal entry and authenticity, and I don’t want to be the blog equivalent of the drunk Facebook aunt. The challenge, like almost every other issue in my life, is about balance. Can I share enough to be relevant without completely dumping my emotional garbage at the readership’s feet?

Yet.

I would like to continue blogging. I value stories but sometimes discredit my own. Blogging is an exercise, not only in the discipline of writing and publishing two pieces twice a week but in looking within myself to find something to share. Every week I am forced to step back from the chaos that I live in and inspect myself.

I’m not going to continue this blog, but I may start a new blog in the weeks to come–one that doesn’t have the phrase “WordPress” in the title…