About six weeks ago, I took this entire blog, had 11 copies bound and printed at the local Staples, and then gave the collection away to family and a few close friends for Christmas.
As Christmas presents, it was probably one of the cheapest ideas I've had in 35 years, but it also was one of the most meaningful, I think. People might not laugh as much as if I had given them season six of "The Simpsons" on DVD, and they might not be on the edge of their seats like if I had given them "Battlestar Galactica,"on but hopefully by the time they're done reading it, they'll know me better.
That collection of my writing, distills into written form a lot of my thoughts, experiences and identity over a period of about 18 months. There's stuff in there that's funny, stuff that's thoughtful, other parts that are informative and some that are merely stupid. It's me. Take me or leave me, enshrine me, mock me, or ignore me, it's me as I am, or at least as I was during that time.
It's been interesting getting the feedback from people as they've received it. Just about everyone loves my piece Elmo and a few people have said they're looking forward to reading it or letting me know that they're enjoying encountering my thoughts. My oldest brother today said he hates it, because every third entry or so he has to put it down and stop to think about what he's read.
It was an eye-opening experience for me to read it as well. One thing that struck me is that I write an awful lot about my faith, particularly as I try to explore some of the deeper currents within Christ. Another thing that struck me is that for someone who claims not to like politics, I wrote an awful lot about that as well, and sometimes pretty harshly when it comes to the GOP.
Believe it or not, I feel bad about that, not because I think my thoughts were wrong, but because I think my attitude was a little too in-your-face and defiant, as though I somehow have to prove I'm not one of "those Christians" on the Religious Right. The chip on my shoulder has been awfully big at times, and it shouldn't be.
I tried reading some of my older journal entries, compiled for the state Division of Youth and Family Services while our foster son was living here. My first thought on reading through them was, "Geez, I was a real dickhead to his biological parents." (I shared this with a friend of mine, and her reaction was, "Yeah, you were. I noticed it at the time but decided it wasn't appropriate to say anything. I figured you were smart enough to figure it out sooner or later on your own.")
I ended up not including them in the volume I gave out at Christmas, because it ended up being too much work to format it correctly, and too upsetting to read through the material again. I need time to process and assimilate it all over again.
Fellow bloggers, take note: The revelation that comes from reading your own writing months later can be painful, but it will be worth it.
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