The Who AND The What....

Sometime over this last weekend my hit counter spun past the 5000 mark. This may not seem like a big deal, but somehow for me, for some unknown reason, 5000 seems like a significant number. As I watched this mark approach I started to think about a few things. Like, should I be influenced by who reads my blog? Am I obligated to any expectations for a particular kind of writing now? And is there a need to define the type of blog this is? And on a completely superficial note, is it time for an aesthetic change of scenery around here? Because this black background and white writing? It's starting to get on my nerves. Reading back through my archive I realize how all-over-the-place this blog is, yet I hesitate to constrain myself to one particular style of writing or subject matter. I find it problematic to be exclusively a craft blog, or one of those mommy bloggers, or worse that this should turn into one of those 'what I ate for breakfast today' blogs that agonizingly details the minutia of my daily existence. I'm shrivelling up just thinking about it. Part of the positive outcome of this blog has been my sense of freedom - a bit of unhindered exploration. In this place I have been unafraid to fail. What's the worst that could happen - really? People stop reading? Oh, well. When I was in school I had a handful of teachers who plainly thought I was the dumbest, most absent minded daydreamer they'd ever had the displeasure of teaching. I've given this opinion of me unmitigated influence on what I say and do and write. Fearful of proving them right, I find myself reticent to say what I'm really thinking and feeling, even here. And although I can see that I have broken down some of those barriers over the past year, I have had to consciously ignore the urge to retreat back into my tidy - albeit cramped - mental holding tank. Last week I got an email from an old friend. I'll willingly admit this is someone whose writing and intellect I admire - someone whose work just seems so above and beyond anything that I could ever even hope to aspire to. Someone who has been reading my blog for a little while. I momentarily had the urge to shout "RETREAT!" and head for my hidey hole, but his words of encouragement sank in too quickly. I recognize (no small thanks to you, Couchie) that it really doesn't matter who reads my blog or what they think of it. What matters is that I am actually writing, and pushing through. Taking in stride that at times I will be all of the things I fear - silly and scattered and ridiculously neurotic. And it's all okay. It's all always been okay.