4/1/2011 - no longer about gratitude. . .

I have officially completed three months.

I know that to serious bloggers, three months is but a dot in the timeline of blogging.  It is a milestone, however, for someone with the attention span and tenacity of a toddler, especially when it concerns work, which this blog is (to some degree).

Though each entry is loosely based on the theme of gratitude, let's just get one thing out of the way first: the intent has changed.  The cheese has been moved; the carrot dangles ever further.  This may still be a blog chronicling the good things in my life, but it is no longer about gratitude.  This experiment is not likely to make me a better person, a more thankful person, and even if I were to turn into one, it probably won't be because of this blog.

Because this is now primarily about writing.  The intention is to write, and write as well as I can.  The goal is to produce.  I have learned a lot through this project, none of which have much to do with gratitude, I'm afraid, especially for a blog called "One Grateful Year."  I struggled with this disparity for a while, as I had hoped that I would emerge as goodness incarnate, but I think the trade-off is fair: the abandonment of the gratitude goal led me to discover that I actually enjoy writing.

I learned that perfection is not the goal, only completion.  Some days, I finish and publish posts that I'm not completely proud of but have no time to start over.  I almost hope that nobody sees it, or if they do, that they won't judge me by the quality of it.  I want to be there, looking over their shoulder when they begin to read and say, "But look at what I wrote on XX/XX/2011.  I was good in that one!!  That was good, right?  Funny and uncharacteristically witty, and the part where I used that word to describe that thing?  Pretty great, right?  That's the post you should be reading, not this one.  But read today's anyway, but shrug it off afterwards and go read XX/XX's to see who I really am.  You'll like him, I promise."

Because who reads this blog is also very important to me, probably more than it should be.  I mean, I should write regardless, right?  Dance like there's nobody watching, that whole thing?  But really, why dance, then, if nobody watches?  Why write if nobody reads?  Why express anything if there is nobody on the other end to receive it? 

Blogger, the hosting site for this blog, must know this need for blogs to be read, because they provide tracking tools that tell you how many people have visited your blog, when and where--nothing specific, but enough to obsess about.  These tools are at once my best friend and worst nemesis.  Some days, I have single digit readership; other days, double.  On the former days, I think, "Why bother keeping this up?  If I take a day off here or there, no one will even notice."  On the latter: "Now there's pressure to actually write good and talk smart."  Either way, I check this little stat counter every few days hours with no actual idea of what to do with this information.  Does it say something about the blog?  My writing?  Me??  It's a popularity contest that I hold in my head with no clear criteria for victory.

At the same time, thanks to these tracking tools, I've learned that I have one lone reader (at least I think it's one) in Denmark who comes regularly, and another in Hungary.  I'm fairly certain that I don't personally know anyone in these countries, so how did this happen?  That's pretty cool, right?  (By the way, hail, my Denmark and Hungary readers!)  Sam says this means that I'm an international bloggerstar.  His tone said something altogether opposite.

In reality, I know that this blog is but one star in a universe, one microparticle in an ever-expanding space of particles.  I also know that it stands alone in my head with no other star to outshine it.  I wake up in the morning, lay there at the brink of sleep and think, "What can I write about today?"  I adhere to a process that seems to work pretty well, drafting it the old-fashioned way, with paper and pen and scribbles, before transferring the skeleton to the computer to be given flesh.  After publishing each entry, I feel an immense, though fleeting, sense of pride. 

And while I would hardly say that the blog has taken over my life (Grr still holds the tiara in that contest), it definitely resides in a well-appointed, smartly decorated corner.

I now totally see the value in those "one day at a time" programs; quantity is a tangible accomplishment.  Three whole months have gone by and I have not missed a day--91 posts plus today's--and I do feel like a bloggerstar, thankful that I stuck with it, even on days when it physically hurt to hunch over at my desk, crawling my way towards an idea.