Before I ever wrote a single blog post, I spent many hours devouring blog content from crafters and lifestyle bloggers. I found myself drawn into their lives, into the stories they told. I was a sucker for a well filtered photo reel and "currently" lists.
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I've been told not everyone has a running commentary going on in their heads...a conversation with yourself that never ends. That sounds quiet, and nothing like me. I have taken to listening to a sleep podcast to fall asleep because my brain never quits talking to me.
This space was started on a whim. It went through the growing pains of me figuring out what to write about and who I was writing to. I read through a few years of my old posts. There were posts that were obviously written for specific people who read my blog at that time, especially at the beginning.
Quickly the tone of my writing changed and the audience I wrote for changed too. Of course I cared to some extent who read my blog and it was exciting to have someone comment. I was encouraged to know my friends read my blog, but I wasn't writing specifically for them. This space, the one I named Barefoot Thoughts, it was a place to process and record my running commentary. It was meant to be informal, relaxed, sloppy. It was written for me, a personal smash journal of thoughts and photos and crap.
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Sounds like something that should be written in a private diary, so why a public blog?
In some ways it's a creative outlet. For years I didn't understand that. I never considered myself a writer; I often got caught up on the spelling and grammar. I found being graded on my writing to be a crippling fear, and I didn't grasp the nuance of scholarly writing at all. I did have a writing club with a couple friends for a while. We wrote various fictional writings and poetry together and apart. Knowing I was the weakest member of the club by skill I made up for it in enthusiasm. I loved reading their writing (and still do whenever they take opportunity to creatively write).
But when I gave myself permission to just not care if I spelled something wrong, or used too many parenthesis, or wrote in ridiculously long run on sentences, I heard myself. I remember reading and rereading posts during the weeks after posting them. As I read them, I understood that voice that it always talking in a way I never had before. I saw myself in a completely different way. I was able to share the thoughts that I wanted to share but couldn't get out in conversations.
Those barefoot thoughts went running and it made me giddy to think that someone could possibly read them and understand me. I found me and wanted to show people this messy but creative "art" I could create.
A diary is private, meant for secret thoughts. My thoughts might be messy, but they can be so lonely too. On my own personal blog, they could be heard, without the pressure of "likes." They could be shared with anyone might struggle with the same things I do. It allows me to share whatever it is that my brain want to talk about that day...Photos of my kids, big plans for a new year, thoughts on the guilt of complaining, or incredibly explanations of my blog's name.
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So in case you ever wondered why my blog is named Barefoot Thoughts. It's because I'm weird. And I don't care that you don't understand. Welcome to my personal weblog.
In some ways it's a creative outlet. For years I didn't understand that. I never considered myself a writer; I often got caught up on the spelling and grammar. I found being graded on my writing to be a crippling fear, and I didn't grasp the nuance of scholarly writing at all. I did have a writing club with a couple friends for a while. We wrote various fictional writings and poetry together and apart. Knowing I was the weakest member of the club by skill I made up for it in enthusiasm. I loved reading their writing (and still do whenever they take opportunity to creatively write).
But when I gave myself permission to just not care if I spelled something wrong, or used too many parenthesis, or wrote in ridiculously long run on sentences, I heard myself. I remember reading and rereading posts during the weeks after posting them. As I read them, I understood that voice that it always talking in a way I never had before. I saw myself in a completely different way. I was able to share the thoughts that I wanted to share but couldn't get out in conversations.
Those barefoot thoughts went running and it made me giddy to think that someone could possibly read them and understand me. I found me and wanted to show people this messy but creative "art" I could create.
A diary is private, meant for secret thoughts. My thoughts might be messy, but they can be so lonely too. On my own personal blog, they could be heard, without the pressure of "likes." They could be shared with anyone might struggle with the same things I do. It allows me to share whatever it is that my brain want to talk about that day...Photos of my kids, big plans for a new year, thoughts on the guilt of complaining, or incredibly explanations of my blog's name.
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So in case you ever wondered why my blog is named Barefoot Thoughts. It's because I'm weird. And I don't care that you don't understand. Welcome to my personal weblog.
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