There’s something narcissistic about being a writer. Something egocentric or self-centered. I mean…it’s weird thinking that my thoughts put to paper would interest anyone. Why would people read our blog?
Our “travelogue” posts are just a small portion of our posts and some of the most read posts aren’t really about travel. (I can’t believe we’ve published 186 posts.) I understand the interest in the posts about travel because if our readers are anything like me, they live to travel.
But my posts about my thoughts? Weird.
I get reading someones writings about their travels. Some of my favorite blogs that I follow are travelers who literally travel the world full time. It’s their job. They travel in a motor home with the occasional flight to somewhere far away and they blog about their travels. Lots of photos and great stories. (Look up Thunder.Panda.Adventures on IG , or TravelwithKevinandRuth.com (they’re a little dorky, but I do love the photos), or The Chouters and Bijou on Blogspot. These bloggers inspire me and feed my “itch” to travel to new places. I’ve “seen” so many places through their eyes that I didn’t even know existed on our earth. I happily anticipate their next posts…
I’m also a reader. I’m currently reading The Innocents Abroad by Mark Twain. It’s the October book selection for my 20+ year book club. I’d never heard of this book and therefore had no expectations for it. One description of it says that Twain “humorously chronicles his Great Pleasure Excursion on board the chartered vessel Quaker City through Europe and the Holy Land in 1867″. As I’m reading it, I’m thinking…this is just an old version of a travel blog! By THE MARK TWAIN – aka Samuel Clemons 😉 !!!
I’m only at the very beginning of the book, but as Twain describes the daily routines onboard the vessel, he writes about the evenings in which many passengers sit down in the saloon and “under the swaying lamps for two to three hours wrote diligently in their journals.” He laments that so many of the passengers wrote thousands of words, but likely their journals came to a “lame and impotent” conclusion. Lucky him, his journal turned into a published book! But all those others? Likely they’re in someone’s cabinet somewhere, if they exist at all.
As a writer (not that I am one, but some writers say…), I’ve heard that it’s true. Most writing ends up being read by a party of one. The writer. I find myself thinking about my audience, my readers. In 1867, who would have been the readers of those thousands of pages written in the evenings as the passengers sailed around the world? Seems sort of sad and futile.
Twain wrote about a lad, Jack who wrote every day…or at least started out writing every day. When asked what he found to write about Jack said – latitude and longitude, how many miles they’d sailed, the games he’d played, the whales and sharks and ships he’d seen, etc. Perhaps not the most titillating travelogue?
And that makes me wonder about my own early writing. On my five month trip to Europe in 1978, I filled two spiral notebooks with my daily (?) recollections of our trip. And I don’t think I’ve ever picked them up to read again..Hmmm…where are those notebooks? Were they just a litany of facts? Did I tell any stories? Who was my audience? Party of one?
So with all of that rolling around in my head, I feel the need to update you on the non-titillating details of our life in Walnut Creek. You’ve traveled with us on our journeys, stayed with us in our dwellings and now that we’re home…after our slightly traumatic re-entry…what are the boring details?
After Glen’s 16 day stay at UCSF, he came home to figure out how to live his “new” life. There are changes to consider and new habits to create. There are lots of follow up doctor visits and he continues to get stronger. I feel like this is really his story to tell so let me just say…life goes on.
And as we continue to look forward to more travels, more dwellings and navigate our new reality…I’m thinking…”Can We? Will We?” You betcha.
And thanks for reading and sharing our journey…