do it for the process

Every now and then, someone in real life will reference something they’ve seen me post online – not my personal page, stuff like that is all real life people, of course they will see it – but on my blog, or my public insta, or my blog’s Facebook page. It is always startling to me; obviously I’m aware people read these little ramblings and fiddlings I put out into the world. Somehow, though, it never really occurs to me that people I actually KNOW will read them. Maybe it’s a holdover from the early days of my blog, when Facebook groups were still years away, and my blog was for sharing projects and stories with the imaginary friends in my computer.

It’s in those instances, something weird happens. Suddenly, realising someone I know is reading, fills me with waves of self-consciousness. I start overthinking my next post. I worry about the photo. Without even really intending to, I find myself modulating my voice in my writing; steering towards more factual and simplistic in style, rather than lyrical and storytelling. I wouldn’t want the town gossip mill to kick off, chins wagging about a post be interpreted as pretentious, the audacity to think I could consider myself a writer, my motives and thought processes under the microscope. “Got tickets on herself, that one”; possibly one of the worst insults to fly around a country town (fair disclaimer, I’ve definitely heard worse. Let’s call it creative license). 

And yet, when I look back on my archives, it’s those fun, light hearted, little stories that catch my attention. In early 2010, when I first joined a project365 over on Flickr, it was my storytelling posts that were catching the attention of the daily sharing threads, not just my photos. When I lament the glory days of blogging, those are the posts I miss; finding the perfect turn of phrase to capture what was generally a pretty ordinary kind of day.

So after a lovely morning, both tiny boys are tuckered out and curled up in their beds. I have just opened a new pack of canvas sheets and am planning a materpiece of my own. Ok, so masterpiece is an overstatement. But if I can enjoy the process of painting with the same innocent abandon, I’ll consider it a success. Once again, they have reminded me that the doing is as good, if not better, than the “done-and-tick-it-off-the-list”. So I’m painting like no-one’s seeing the end result. Which might involve singing like no-one’s listening. And quite possibly a little hip-waggle-bust-a-move like no-one’s watching. Because life is more enjoyable when we do what makes us happy, not what others want to see. Wonderful Wednesday, you’ve been so good to me. Keep it up, k? Let’s do this!

–me on my blog, circa 2009

Diving down in those archives a month or two back, I came across the above quote. I was blogging daily, and these little closing paragraphs where generally where the magic was captured. 

“Life is more enjoyable when we do what makes us happy, not what others want to see”

I let the voice inside my head turn the dial to “witchy teenage girl”, when I see people from real life pop up in my notifications. It tells me I’m not good enough to be a blogger, that my posts are silly, that everyone is judging me. One might suggest, in reply to that mean voice, if people (in real life or otherwise) are following me in those places; on my blog, here on substack, on my Facebook page and my instagram, my podcast and my YouTube, they are choosing to do that because they are interested in what I’m sharing, and maybe that voice should hush. 

It’s a lesson I’m working hard on. Blogging is fun when I let the words come and the stories unfold. It’s not fun when I’m simply typing up a laundry list of steps I took to finish a project. And if it’s not fun to write, it’s not going to be fun to read. In these post-blogging days, if it’s not fun, why continue to blog? I do it for me, I do it for those who continue to read, I do it for the process. And if people in real life read it…well, I hope they find themselves inspired to pick up a project, or a notebook and pen, and do something fun as well, just for the process, no matter the outcome.

This week, I’m not listening to the mean girl; I’m drowning her voice out with that of 2009 me, the 20-something mum of toddlers, who revelled in making with her boys, and revelled in romanticising those little moments that slip by.

This week, I’m doing it for the process, I’m doing it like no-one is watching. I hope you do too.