Shakespeare said (or more specifically a character in one of his plays): “The play’s the thing”. In this blog, the entry’s the thing. Sometimes, even the idea for an entry that never gets written is the thing. Cogitating on blog entries, rolling the ideas around in my mind, and then typing them out for the world to see helps me to focus my thoughts and even recognize some ideas that otherwise might have just floated away as worthy of more exploration. So, the blog’s for me, more than for the audience. The ideas expressed here, though, expose something of me to my readers. That I’d find an idea worthy of exposition tells something about me, before you even read what it is I actually write about it. For some bloggers out there, I think the reason that the blog is to do some sort of intellectual streaking – baring themselves before the world for the thrill of it. But just as I’d be more embarassed to have my mother-in-law or my boss see my bare bum running down the road than I would a stranger seeing me, I have to consider who may actually know me among my audience before deciding what to post. Friends know who we are; co-workers have now visited the site; I’ve even been approached by my clients at work or folks in our church. It’s not as if our site is a secret: if we give you our email address, it’s pretty easy to find the site. But I don’t always connect the thought that letting someone send me email is the same as giving them a blinking arrow to my blog.

As a concrete example of the complications involved, playing with ideas of impending motherhood wasn’t doable until work knew that we were expecting. Making jokes about the in-laws? Not cool, when your readership includes your mother-in-law. Providing op-eds on gay marriages? Only OK if I’m willing to be challenged on my opinion on Sunday in church. Either makes for a very tame weblog or a choice to accept flak for opinions expressed, since they _are_ the opinions of the writer. So far, I’ve walked a more tame route, but it feels chafing. Censorship is a confining sensation, even if it’s self-censorship. I’m contemplating free range ideas, setting those little dogies free from their pens and seeing where they wander. Figure out then how much I need to rope ’em in. The fear is that I wouldn’t need to rope ’em in at all – that I’m that tame that I never raise an eyebrow anywhere. Bland is not only boring to the listener, but ego deflating.