Irony Becomes Her

Song of experience

I don't mean to interrupt the diablog by going solo again, but it is so rare that I feel like writing here that I figured I'd better give in to the impulse.

In a casual search for something specific, I got to reading the early posts of this blog, written by the me of six years ago who simply wanted to record snapshots of life in a way that might also be interesting or helpful to others. I don't think I had delusions of blogging grandeur, but I know I was influenced by what blogs were like at the time: mostly irrelevant but sometimes entertaining observations of the world for its own sake.

Perhaps, like most people, I'm just a big fan of myself in any form, but now I really miss that young (so young!) grad-student blogger whose most formidable responsibility was turning out a few more thesis pages. But of course it would get done (it always did!) and after I did it, there would surely open up a new path down which more beautiful vistas would come into view -- and I'd record them here.

It took some major blows over the past five years to convince me that the vistas of this world aren't all beautiful. Though there are wonderful traces of the perfect paradise it was created to be (I simply can't get over the snow in the trees, thank God), it has been twisted beyond recognition in just as many places.

Under this metamorphosis, the blog varied with the blogger. Less and less did I want to take those snapshots, to preserve images of things I wish didn't exist. When I got a job in which I had a relatively public face, I didn't want the blog to attract the teeming bloodsuckers of the public with the bait of personal revelation. And, honest personal revelation became darker than that grad-student blogger thought hers would ever get.

Finally, a couple of unavoidable blows to its foundation managed to wipe out the joy I took in this world for its own sake. The snow in the trees isn't enough, by itself, to make up for the cruel thorns and brambles below. Beautiful as the beauty is, in my calculation it doesn't stand up mathematically to the pain and suffering also contained on this terrestrial ball.

So here I am now, wondering what the blog is really for. Would Wordsworth be proud of me for this little "song of experience"? Have I (can I?) really lived up to the Bronte quote on the right? More importantly, since this world is worthless by itself, is there comfort and redemption for it from some other source -- the only way for a blog to be relevant?

If you've read any of my other recent posts, you know that of course I believe there is -- but you can probably also tell that I haven't figured out the blog-relevance aspect very well. What I perceive as a lighthearted medium can't really be done well without a light heart. So I pray your indulgence. And I pray for a light heart too.

posted by Lynn @ 10:57 AM