On the Readership of Blogs

Which is to say, none. Why do we keep writing when no one reads?

Granted, I did stop writing for some time, so perhaps this question is particularly applicable to me.

I think part of the reason is the human need to be creative. A psychology professor once walked into a classroom. "How many of you can remember something important about your parents?" The entire class raised their hands. "Alright, now how about your grandparents?" Once again, most of the hands stayed up. "Now, how many of you know something important about your great-grandparents?" Most of the hands went down. "Therefore, in three generations, most of you will be completely forgotten. What will you do to be the one that is remembered?" He then left the classroom as most of the class sat there in stunned silence.

I'd say most of us want to be remembered. If we're forgotten, do our lives have any lasting meaning?

This is why I think we have this need to be creative--to make something that will last beyond this mortal shell.

In the past people built houses. Kept diaries. And, of course, made children. Today? We draw. We write music. We blog. And we still make children.

Which brings us back to the question: if a blog is written and no one reads it, does it make a sound? Does it fulfill our creative need?

Probably not. And given the readership of most blogs, I'd say that's a problem.

On the other hand, while most blogs claim a readership of zero, my own activities make me wonder if that's really the case.

I have a list of blogs I stalk. Some of these people are close to me, others have never met me before; a few others are in-between, faint acquaintances who may have forgotten all about me.

Why do I stalk? Because hearing about other people's lives makes me feel better about my own; it's easy when you spend most of your day without any social interaction whatsoever to come to the conclusion that you are an oddball who really has no place in this world and perhaps aren't really human. My staunch perfectionism forces me to admit that I am a failure and that everyone else must be perfect because I don't really know everyone else and who am I to judge, anyways? Knowing that other people are, in fact, human, with their own daily needs and concerns and faults and loves and tribbles is rather comforting.

Because humans must love. This has been an odd year. I spent the first two-thirds of the year without any love interest. And the result was not really moving on from the old one without really being attached to the old one which really meant floating around without meaning, for some odd reason. Humans are weird: they go around planning their entire lives around someone they haven't said hello to yet when they fall in love, and from these plans their lives have structure. Without structure you float around without meaning; you get depressed and end up not actually doing anything. You don't actually have to say hello; you merely have to have a dream, a reason to be optimistic instead of resorting to the obvious conclusion that you're probably never getting married, will never mutually fall in love with someone and never have a family of your own.

Because it's a way to remember people you'll probably never see again and keep them alive in your heart.

Because it's another way to procrastinate.

I'm sure some of these people who I read would be completely horrified if they found out I read their blogs. (My pessimistic self-esteem isn't breaking through, is it?) But of course they're not going to find out.

And, by the way, to all those blogs I read that claim you have no readers, I just proved you wrong. We all know the only blog without any readers is this one.