B.I.C.S. (Blog Identity Crisis Syndrome)

My blog is having an identity crisis.

Note: Not me. I’m fine. It’s my blog that’s come down with the B.I.C.S.

You see, I started this four years ago to chronicle the journey of rehabbing an old cottage. Is it finished? No. The bathroom still needs a total gut; the extra room that will be a guest bedroom/office is still unfinished; the garage, the back porch, and the roof all need attention. But life here is the real life now. It’s no longer a dream of someday we’ll move there. We’re here. And it’s day to day — you know — working, eating, praying, loving, serving, writing, reading, learning, talking, listening.

One hundred and eighty posts later I’ve been struggling with the foolish self-importance issue that seems to be an egregious habit of the human race. (Watch the debates much?) And then my blog whispered to me the other day, and…

well, that just brought things to a head.

Yes. My blog told me just three days ago that it’s feeling out-of-focus and left out.

What’s my point? it whined. I used to be about the cottage. With some DIY thrown in. And then you started with those photo/poems — I hope you don’t have any illusions about your photo skills. You just have an iPhone and you can’t compete with real photographers, you know.
I nodded.
And you’ve put up some recipes, but you’re just a half-decent slow, messy cook who sometimes doesn’t feel like cooking at all.
I nodded again.
Then sometimes you write about faith and Jesus. You know, you lose people immediately as soon as they read those first lines.
But, I said, I’m not ashamed of Jesus.
Just sayin’ the blog answered. And sometimes you write gardening posts, but you’re just a homestead wannabe. No chickens. No bees. Just some fruit trees and a small garden.
Suddenly I was feeling bullied. Hey, I said. I write you. Don’t tell me what to write about.
Maybe, I should — all that bookish stuff — get real, get into the 21st century.
I am in the 21st century, you simpleton, I said. (Yes, it’s pathetic to resort to name calling in an argument with your own blog.) I’m writing you on my Mac and sending you rocketing off into cyberspace.
Well, it said self-importantly, if there’s no point, why send me rocketing off? Why not just keep a diary of the weather for yourself? Or write on that silly novel of yours? You know there are bazillions of blogs out there — why do you think anyone wants to waste their precious time reading yours?

And then my blog went silent.

And I was left with anxious thoughts. No one really wants to have a fight with their own blog.

Maybe I could change my theme, I thought. Make things look a little different around here?

No answer.

That’s how we left it. Uncomfortable silence.

So until one of us learns some humility, I’m taking a break. Studying the clouds. Weather patterns.

It’s not a divorce — just some time apart. And I’m sending my blog to counseling so it can figure out what will be good for its soul.

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