Okay, I just had a realization and it’s kind of creeping me out. I’ve been writing this blog for over a year, and although it’s stated purpose was to provide a means for me to better understand myself and grow, I have been adopting the voice of a writer communicating with an undefined reader.
I just realized who that reader is. It’s me. I’m writing notes to myself. WTF does that even mean? I’m not sure, but it’s both weirdly disturbing and kind of cool at the same time. I guess I’m sending messages to myself? Or am I working out problems and trying to process and understand life by writing down my thoughts? This is really fucking strange…
I guess it kind of makes sense, it was sort of spelled out in the first blog post, but it must have been on a subconscious level. Because I wasn’t really thinking in those terms. I suppose the next logical question here would be “So why make it public?” Hmmm, another good question – I’m not really sure how to answer that.
I guess it’s because I’m fucking 61 years old and coming down the home stretch. I realized how quickly things can change after being diagnosed with cancer, and suddenly my demise wasn’t a remote intellectual possibility. It was like a dress rehearsal for act three, you know, the one where I die at the end. Maybe I’m thinking “I don’t really have much to leave behind that might be useful to someone else, so perhaps there’s a remote possibility that another person may chance upon this and have it touch them in a meaningful way.”
Or at least provide fodder for the artificial intelligence that will someday read everything ever written as a way to better understand humans. “Hello there Mr. Machine! Even though I never really mattered in the big picture, at least you’re reading something that proves I existed. Feel free to take the parts you find useful!”
So there’s that.