Somewhere along the way in my frantic effort to blog about everything, all at once, I stumbled past two months, the point where many bloggers throw in the towel. When I started doing this, it was SO fun that I couldn’t imagine ever stopping. I’d sit down for half an hour or an hour and something would escape from brain to computer and off into the internet. It couldn’t be more fun. Then it changed. Mostly for the better.
Here’s the phases:
- I started getting/making comments
I was a good member of the community, commenting on blogs I enjoyed, and being a good host for those who started commenting on my own blog. The early commenters? Commenter? A gem.
- I got some positive attention with awards and such
People like it. This phase is/was so cool! There is a downside, in that it’s work to find other blogs for the good karma that barged through my door. It’s not just finding them, it’s a commitment to keep up. Still, I did alright.
- I got caught up in … whatever
At the start, I wrote only about music. I needed the focus. Music was easy to have an opinion about and, honestly, I’m a music fanatic. It wasn’t enough.
- I looked at my navel, my too fascinating navel
Now, having spent a week with the fewest views in a while, I feel calmer. I’ve failed. OK, it’s not really a failure, but, by some measures, I’ve had a setback.
To be fair, I could interpret my failure as success. The people who do read my blog (that’s you) come by regularly and don’t have to catch up with view-inflating tours of past posts. People who drop by from outside the WordPress world are finding me because what I write about matters to them. Sure, they often leave just as quickly, but that’s just how things happen.
I haven’t really failed, but failing means so much to me that I’m claiming it. Failure means more to me than it probably should. Once I fail,
- I can only do better.
- The pressure to keep it up, drops.
- I can re-invent myself to be what I want.
- I have the beginning of a new story of success.
It was better, but
I can see how a person might quit. At the start, I wrote just for me. Then, I’d get caught up in discussions with amazing people I wanted to impress or even beat. Did I tell you I can be competitive? I can. I’m the kind of person prone to saying things along the lines of, “I can top that.” Usually, I keep it under control. Usually, but not always.
Still, failure can be freeing. Here failure is merely my grandiose dreams not achieved. The lesson? Dial back the grandiosity. That ought to help!