Becoming A Writer Part 5 – By Mia White

Admittedly, I didn’t get it…

Way back in 2008, when Smarty-Pants Husband uploaded vacation pics onto a self-hosted web-log to share with family and friends, I audibly scoffed at him: Why did we need a personal website?! We weren’t selling anything! With incredible foresight he patiently explained how social media was surely the future of the internet, and how we could continue to share photos on the site and perhaps even journal a bit– but I thought it bizarre and, well… creepy.

Acquaintances gradually hopped aboard this peculiar blogging-band-wagon, and I raised my eyebrows in wonderment: Why? Who were they writing for? Who was reading? What about privacy?

As these blogging-friends gave the occasional shout out or posted photos of me/my children I was quietly horrified, yet simultaneously flattered… the concept of a public journal just didn’t compute. Though I’ve long found writing to be cathartic (a natural extension of my book-worming ways), the diary of my youth was securely locked and tucked under my mattress, journals from early adulthood remain hidden, cozy in my bedside table.

I’m sorry, Bloggers, I judged you.

I was wrong.

Like the times in high-school when I stubbornly proclaimed how I would NEVER sport the horrendous capri-pants suddenly making their resurgence… I was wrong.

And the time I adamantly argued with (and mocked) Husband for his audacious claims that the obviously mythical aquatic Narwhal was an actual, real-life creature. Boy was I wrong.

Oh, and pickled okra. I was wrong about that, too… that stuff is delicious.

Prior to blogging, my sole creative outlet (besides toddler-crafting via Popsicle sticks, pipe cleaners and Fruit Loops) was drafting compelling real-estate ads for property listings:

“Charming (read: tiny) 1940’s home with exquisite original touches throughout (ahem, not updated) in up-and-coming neighborhood with great proximity to retail and easy freeway access (you probably do not want to live here, fyi). Easy-care yard (again, small) and motivated (translation: desperate) seller. Call for a private showing!”

Not exactly filling the tank, though truthfully my favorite part of the job.

Loved ones will attest that I’ve always been a verbal processor (ß understatement of the century) who wears her heart on her sleeve and serially overshares— when it came right down to it, journaling online was not actually too great a stretch. Albeit reluctantly, I began blogging simply to share my family’s international adoption journey to our precious son. To my great surprise, along the way it blossomed into something more. With regular abuse of laptop keyboard I wound up sharing seldom profound, oft mundane musings; a peekaboo into my heart and whatever God happened to be teaching me.

These days I blog to document our ongoing adventures– this has become a cathartic release, almost a spiritual practice or discipline. The frosting on the cake: A virtual time capsule to look back on, hopefully for generations (or at least until machines take over the world)– a treasure for this mom who has yet to complete her eleven year old firstborn’s baby book. Were no one else to ever read the entries, I still would not count it as loss… I’m grateful for this simple, sacred space I’ve found to express myself, to work out my salvation– praise be to God.