Catharsis

Years ago, when blogging first came into vogue, I remember thinking, “Oh my god–why would anyone want to expose their private lives to the world like that? It’s like letting anyone and everyone read your diary!” And, well, yeah. It is. The differences are 1) I’ve given everyone permission to do it, and 2) I can massage my words for five hours or five days until I’m ready to send them out into the Universe via the Internet.

I had no idea, though, how cathartic it can be. I mean, different people blog for different reasons. I’ve read a blog about Pacific Northwest native flora, a blog in which the author wrote of being date-raped, blogs about wine, blogs about beer, blogs about dogs. My favorite blogger–who recently published her first book, by the way–is a brilliant artist named Allie Brosh, who writes Hyperbole and a Half. She’s one of two authors whose writing consistently makes me laugh till I cry–or moby wine out my nose. (Bill Bryson is the other.) Another favorite blog is Danger Garden. Really, what’s not to love?

There are blogs for literally every topic under the sun. I call this “my online mat space” for a reason. It’s Bloga.© OMG, I totally just coined a new word. (And yes, I totally inserted that copyright mark for a reason.)

Since I posted last night about Dude, I’ve been feeling lighter. Clearer. More creative. Better, certainly, than I have the past few months. What could cause this?

Merriam-Wesbter defines catharsis as “the act or process of releasing a strong emotion (such as pity or fear) especially by expressing it in an art form.” Ooooh. Oh, quite. Please and thank you. Could I possibly be nudging myself into my Vortex of Attraction by sharing my personal life with anyone and everyone? Is that wrong? It sounds wrong to me. But how can it be wrong when it feels so good?

Sometimes I so desperately need to express myself, but I just don’t feel like talking to anyone–not Loving Husband, not parents, not Dude, not sister-in-law, not best friends. Bloga provides me that outlet. Expressing myself through this blog feels like talking to Happy Dog: I don’t necessarily need Bloga to say anything, only to listen.

Bloga doesn’t judge or interrupt or offer suggestions or try to make me feel better. I don’t mean to imply that Loving Husband, parents, Dude, sister-in-law or best friends judge or interrupt. They do offer suggestions and try to make me feel better, which is loving and compassionate, and I appreciate it. Sometimes.

But Bloga just is. And sometimes that’s all I need.