I’m really enjoying this whole blog thing so far, and it’s caused only a small stir in my little world. Most notably, my parents love it (surprise, surprise!) except for one thing:
“Why do you say you’re boring?” my Dad wants to know. “Why don’t you just delete that part?” Well, two reasons old man. First and foremost, one of the hardest things about the blogging stuff is the figuring it out . . . finding your voice, deciding what to say, getting to the point where you just have a rhythm and feel in the zone. And that’s hard. Yeah, hard to find your voice, but hard to just make the attempt. In my case, I’m starting to realize that there are years just leading up to that first post. It’s important to keep the reminders around. Because as several very wise and very special people tell me, the first step is the hardest and the worst . . . nothing is ever more difficult than on your first try.
So last night I was having dinner with glamorous and
an old roommate Roomie-kins (now blogging as Little Miss Law). We just happened to be dining by tiki-torchlight on the delicious meats prepared by the Land-Baron who owns the house where my yarn stash now resides, also known as the best boyfriend ever. So the girls and I, we got to talking about the blog. I was telling them I thought I might have something useful or helpful to say about knitting, and yarny stuff, and also how much I am enjoying reading other people’s knitting blogs too. Everyone out there has a different voice, a unique perspective, and it’s really cool getting to know people. And then I just started talking . . . rambling on in my traditional I-feel-like-a-snowflake way about the community and bloggers and how knitters are so warm and welcoming and globalization and feeling small in a big world and this whole process making me feel no bigger but the world a little smaller . . . and how I wanted to give back a little to a craft and a community that has already given me happiness and a tiny bit of direction and at the very least hours and hours of entertainment . . . and how dammit, I can be quirky too.
Girls, you are the best, and I love you both for not laughing me away from my own dinner table for being such a nut. I don’t care if anyone ever reads this, I’m just grateful you are tolerant and kind about my crazy craftiness and all its various expressions. That goes for all of you — you know who you are — thanks for supporting me even when I’m boring.