Heart&hearing

When I first started blogging, I spent a ton of time visiting other blogs and leaving comments. I genuinely enjoyed this. There was, and is, something magical about stumbling into the words and worlds of others and getting lost. There is something intense and exquisite about realizing that in most everything in life, we are not alone. And so, when I read others’ posts and realized this over and over, when I felt compelled to (and I so often did), I would leave my own words. My own musings. My own questions. My own voice. Me.

Sometimes, I would never hear back. I would leave words, open up, react, and wait. And nothing. Enter lovely feelings of confusion, sadness, frustration, disappointment.

But sometimes. Sometimes, I would hear back! A blogger would respond to my comment on her own site or, better yet, she would come visit me here. At my own place. She would read my words, my ramblings, and say something. I remember distinctly the night when Heather of the Extraordinary Ordinary left her first comment here at ILI. It was a silly post about a feather ball chandelier I was considering for our new home and she said something witty and warm. I remember turning to Husband – we were at his parents’ home and about to go to bed – and saying, Babe, this blogger I love just left me a comment! I was so excited. It was indeed a moment for me.

And I remembered this as I plowed forward with this blogging thing. As the months piled up, so did the comments. I read each and every one and tried so hard to respond on my own site or on the commenting blogger’s site. Sometimes I did both. This felt good. Not because I felt I was meeting some unspoken obligation, but because there was real communication and conversation happening and I was part of it. I was meeting people, friends even, and learning about their lives. And they, in turn, were learning about mine. I felt satisfied and supported and less alone.

But something happened. Truth be told, I’m not sure what it was. It could have been that I plunged fiercely into the promotion of my first book, a process that was at once incredible and soul-zapping. It could have been that I was simply tired. Burnt-out by a trusty combination of small children, delayed grief, and little rest. It could have been that something in me began to rebel against the exposure this world sometimes seems to entail, that I longed for the privacy of latter day. It could have been many things.

But it wasn’t lack of enthusiasm, or affection. Never. This world, this web of lives and struggles and stories, continues to amaze me and inspire me. It has become part of me, essential to my being. Being here, scattering bits of self, has changed the way I think and see. I said it to Husband the other night as we were brushing our teeth, over the buzz of our matching Sonicaires: I think blogging has made me a better person. I said this. I did. And I believe it. There is something about this world, its very ether, that has widened me.

But the experience of blogging has changed and I am complicit in this change. For all of the reasons above (or none of them), I have all but stopped visiting fellow bloggers. And when I do visit, I rarely take the time to comment. And you know what? I hate this. It feels crappy and empty. And these days? I get comments, wonderful comments, from readers newer and older. And how often do I respond to these comments here or elsewhere? Rarely. Almost never. Again? Crappy. Empty.

And so. I have learned not to make outlandish promises I can’t keep. But I have also learned how important it is to be honest, to say, Hey, I am still figuring this out, so bear with me. I would like to do better. I have learned that in most struggles (maybe even this one?), I am leagues from alone. And so, I don’t know what will change. I still have young kids and one on the way. I am riddled with exhaustion. I have a book inside me that wants so desperately to be written before it is forgotten. I have a man to brush my teeth with and grow old with. I have few answers and many questions. But that is okay. That is life. My life.

A fan of practicality, I must end with an idea. For the next few days (or maybe the next few months), I’m going to keep my posts short and snack-sized. They will be thoughtful, but on the tiny side. Instead of laboring over my words, I will read yours. I will go back, post by post, through my archives and click through to blogs I’m sure I’ll love. I will leave some words. I will say something back. I’m excited.

And so. This is one of those trademark Aidan-esque insecurity-soaked posts that zigs and zags. What is this? Well, it is part confession, part apology, and all Me.

Thank you for reading my words, for listening to me. Now it’s my turn to read your words and listen to you.

___________________________________________

Do you agree that the blogging experience (and, hey, the life experience) is that much more enriching when it involves communication and conversation? Have your blogging patterns (reading, commenting) changed with time? When you leave a comment on a blog and never get a response, do you feel ignored or disappointed? If you have a blog or would like to point me to a blog you particularly enjoy, please leave the link in the comment box. And now, the biggie: In your life, do you feel that you are heard?

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