Blogging is many things to many people. It is keeping people up to date, it is carving out a space of fame (but sadly, probably not fortune). It is a record of what was going on in your life at any given moment, or even a portfolio to send prospective employers to. It’s networking. We blog because we can, because we like to, and because it’s there.
We blog for all of these reasons, and for one reason more.
We are storytellers.
From the first breathy recordings we have of me as an almost three year old, with a wicked Brooklyn accent, recounting the events of my day (and then… and then… and then…) up until thirty-cough years later, I am a storyteller. I have been telling stories since I could, both because I love to hear my own voice and because I love to talk to people after I tell my story. There’s the one about the guy with the infected tattoo on the overnight bus in Argentina, the one about the giant sow that surprised me on an island off the coast of Honduras walking down a narrow path, the trip to a Mexican restaurant in West Virginia, where one patron explained to another what a tohr-TIL-a was (it’s like braid, but it’s rouhnd). I love these stories, one and all. Other people might have a sixpack of stories, or maybe even a dozen. I have a flat of them. And when that flat is exhausted, there’s another flat waiting below, like a never ending supply of farm-fresh eggs.
Blogging can be many things to many people. For me, it’s a place to share with you my great love of storytelling and my great love of hearing other people talk and meeting other storytellers and listening to their great collection of tales.
One egg at a time.