I Love Me

     I blog because I am selfish.  It came to me on my drive home from work (yes, a lot can come to you in seven minutes), this realization.  People realize things every day; that they are not good at sewing, that safety pins really do not replace buttons (hence sewing realization), maybe that trying to trim your own eyebrows with the method the barber uses on your husband is not such a good idea.  Like I said, every day.  But this one, being selfish, kept me intrigued until long after I had closed the garage door behind me.
     For anyone who is familiar with psychological egoism, my contemplation may make sense.  For anyone who is not, I will explain, so it does.  Wikipedia's description: Psychological egoism is the view that humans are always motivated by self-interest, even in what seem to be acts of altruism. It claims that, when people choose to help others, they do so ultimately because of the personal benefits that they themselves expect to obtain, directly or indirectly, from doing so.  Basically, it's the idea that all people are completely selfish, always.  That tire you changed for the stranger on the side of the road?  A selfish act of kindness because you would have been thinking about that person all day and felt terrible for not helping.  Helping them made you feel good about yourself, made you feel proud,  provided a fulfilment of your duty to mankind.  Maybe you thought they would give you something in return.  Psychological egoism.  The extra work you did today even though you were suppose to be off forever ago?  Doing the dishes in the sink that aren't yours even though you hate doing dishes? Picking up those papers that your coworker dropped? You get it, psychological egoism.  Deep down, maybe not really that deep, we do things because there is some reward to doing so, some gain.  
     I am selfish because I blog.  Once it can be realized (if you are past garment mending and personal hygiene disasters), it is easy to answer questions about who you are and why you do things.  Try asking yourself some questions, about anything.  Why do I complain about the dogs needing a bath, but never give them one myself?  Why do I feel a deep urge to rid the world of plastic bags and people who don't know the difference between to, two, and too?  Why do I pack a lunch for my husband every day even though I know he may not eat it?  Why do I shave my legs when I plan on wearing pants all week?  Because I am a selfish person.  I know I am sitting at the table writing this because it makes me feel good, throws me a sense of accomplishment, gives me control of a little tiny section of the world.  Yeah, I could be sorting my clothes to donate to Good Will.  Sure, I could be washing cars for charity.  And let's not even get started on running for the hungry.  But here I am, blogging.  And it feels good.

To Blog or Not to Blog...

     While it may not be THE question, it is one I have contemplated for a while.  At first is seemed like a strange idea, just writing your thoughts to write your thoughts and put them out there for the whole world to see.  But, after dabbling in the idea of doing freelance work, and realizing the balance that must be kept with work, school, and family life, I decided the last thing I needed were more deadlines. I knew I was kidding myself if I thought freelancing would replace my current income, and I knew I might drive myself into the ground trying to make it do so.  I chose to quit perusing monster.com and focus on the commitments I already had.  While that decision seemed sound, I still had an urge to satisfy my love of writing.
     Poetry was my first literary crush, and kept me grounded during a childhood that was anything but.  I'm sure a psychologist would consider medication after reading some of it, but it was actually its own medicine.  As I got older, I enjoyed things that had distinctive parts, cold hard facts and things you could rely on (also lacking in my life at the time).  Short stories were a perfect outlet, even research reports that I did during SUMMER VACATION.  What was wrong with me?!  I'm still not sure that things are quite right, but what I wouldn't give now for 3 months of doing nothing.   In high school I wrote for the school paper, which was satisfying enough, but left little room for my own creativity.  Then...nothing.  For almost 10 years.  While my life careened and stabilized, I left writing behind.  The one thing I always had control of, I abandoned.  I don't know if I am trying to make up for lost time, or if I am looking for something life-changing in the letters on the page (screen in this case).  All I know is that I answered "yes" to blogging, and here I am.

     Language is the ultimate tool, and I am trying to get it back.