Writing to think, perhaps

With a year of graduate school complete, I have more questions than answers, but they are hard to hear over the sound of my caustic convictions about life, the universe, and nothing. Here I'll try exploring some of those questions, airing some of those convictions, and facing potential blowback from the  disinterested public.

Why blog?

I journal frequently and reflect constantly, likely to a fault. I am also highly skeptical of the ego-centrism that this blog will perpetuate, as many other blogs do. But my journal entries, never seeing the light of day, have a mopey, introverted quality to them, and that tone persists: as a new entry is made, it becomes a continuation of a narrative already in progress. Perhaps by airing my words in the blogosphere, I will be more inclined towards honesty with myself. An inner monologue is just that, but an outer monologue has the potential to illuminate it differently... maybe?

Why read this blog?

Really, I don't want anyone to read it. Already I'm ashamed of the preponderant frequency of "I" in the prior sentences. But the fact that it could be read by friends, strangers, or both, will hopefully enable this format to function as a foil to my private journaling.

What will it say?

Everything that isn't worth hearing. Some people need to dance in order to think. Or run, play the piano, argue at the bar, sulk in bed, teach a student, hit their fist against a table, raise their voice, blow the trumpet, give a massage, lecture 'ignorant' strangers, climb a mountain, or drive a car nowhere. I do all of those things, but more often then not, I feel like I've built an elaborate sandcastle, one which I may cherish or regret until I close my eyes and the tide of night, exhaustion, or distraction washes it from memory.

Is there value in airing all of these thoughts? I plan to find out. Boomer thinks so. And so does Lizzie. 

dVC told me that sometimes you have something to say, and you have to write ten pages of pre-think before you get to the beginnings of an idea. And Sir Ken Robinson remembers a little girl who has to dance to think. Blogger will be my dance hall for now.