Out In The Ether

My husband is not a computer or internet person. Seems hard to believe that I ended up with a sports junkie who knows nothing of this other world in which I live. Even after all these years, I am still explaining why I have never met some of my best friends and why others live half a world away, but all are as real to me as if they lived next door.

Given this, you can well imagine that the concept of a personal blog is somewhat beyond his grasp. I was quite actively blogging when we met, and in the interest of full disclosure, I told him about it and offered not to mention him if he was uncomfortable or assured an appropriate pseudonym if he gave the OK. He was fine with it, but remained perplexed about the details. He always had my URL, but never read anything I didn't actively show him. When I started up here, he was thrilled and encouraging, now knowing how therapeutic writing can be for me. But the same old questions continued to bug him. Who reads this? Why would anyone read it? How do people find it?

I really didn't have an answer for him. I know the Trifecta folks are popping by to read my entries, as I do with theirs each round. But who else? I let the word out to old blog friends. I will eventually be picked apart by Google and have all manner of strange referrers. But really, who comes through here and why do they care? I still don't know, any more than I know why I visit the blogs of total strangers.

My best guess, is that people who write honest, real, personal blogs are telling the stories of their lives, and reading them is like watching a soap opera and peeking into a forbidden diary all rolled into a single package with fancy graphics and pretty pictures. You just get hooked. You want to know if that date Friday night worked out, or if the baby is a boy or a girl, or if they really are getting a divorce. They say truth is stranger than fiction. Certainly my truth is exponentially so. Maybe this is what has us glued.