I remember a time when I used to be obsessive (I, know, me, obsessive?? That’s out of character…) about my analytics for my blog. I wanted to know how many people were reading, where they came from and how long they stayed. For someone allergic to math, that’s a pretty big deal. I even set some goals about how many people I wanted to read and how I would accomplish that.
When I switched this blog from posting mostly my photography work to my public, therapeutic rant about life, I stopped writing for my readers and wrote for survival. I needed that outlet to sort out my confused life. I stopped looking or caring about numbers and just wrote. Somewhere along the way, the numbers lost it’s significance and writing daily became my outlet to “speak” the words I couldn’t say. Through my fingers, I poured out my heart, my thoughts, my fears while I sat mutely using words and not voice.
I challenged myself to blog daily so that I was accountable to something instead of the alternative — burying my emotions deep and moving forward in crippling silence. Some days, yes, it’s been difficult to share what has been in the deepest depths of my heart. Other days, I just didn’t have anything to say. There are many times where I can’t even bring myself to re-read what was written because of the raw emotion involved in the process (I apologize for the grammatical errors on those days, haha). A few times, forcing myself to write was a chore that was just something else to have to check off the list.
This last week, I’ve been getting numerous emails, messages and friends requests on Facebook on people who have found this blog through my writing on SLR Lounge. And Sunday, before I sat down to write, I was curious to see the numbers and was surprised to see that I had reached and surpassed my goal from way back when. And I started feeling a little pressure.
Pressure to produce good content, pressure to write well and talk about relevant topics, pressure to succeed and pressure to be the best. Then it hit me. This blog isn’t about the readers. It hasn’t for a long time. Sometimes I’m embarrassed that it’s all about me, me, me here, but funny enough, never really embarrassed about my thoughts or the content. In light of recent photography industry news, about plagiarism and the burden to write something reader worthy from two of it’s most respected and famous artists, I admit to a slight anxiety attack about the numbers again.
And then I slapped myself into reality. What I am doing here is about me. It’s not about who reads it or gaining accolades or even a paycheck. It remains and will always remain a sanctuary for my fingers to speak.
So, welcome new readers. Thanks for stopping by. Thanks for your encouraging words and thank you especially for indulging me in my thoughts.