Of all the hobbies I've had a go at, blogging is one that actually repels me, even as I fall for its sly charms. There's something so self-indulgent and exhibitionistic about letting your every thought out into the world, but also something attractive, even therapeutic, about it. This duality is why I've started two blogs, stopped them, and now shakily started another.
You could argue that a regular personal-essay column is much the same, but at least a newspaper requires responsibility. If I started writing, every second Tuesday, about getting up, brushing my teeth, and eating oats for breakfast, I can be sure an editorial axe will fall and I'll never be heard of again. But with a blog I can pretend there are actually people out there who read about every meal eaten, every tooth brushed. Even if I do take the time to write interesting pieces, blogging - bereft as it is of external prior approval - seems merely the non-boorish version of standing up at a party and boring everybody with your opinions. While I could convince myself I have enough to say to write a novel, if no publisher bought the book, I would never have the audacity to publish it myself. So why do I have the audacity to blog, and this time about food, though I'm no chef?
Living as I do, thousands of miles from family and close friends, when I cook something that turns out nicely, my first thoughts are not about how well I've done, but the people who'd enjoy the meal as much as I will. I then feel a driving need to "share" this meal, either in an e-mail or perhaps on a blog. It's not showing off, but rather: "I remembered you, and though I loved my meal and the company, my enjoyment would have been greater if you'd enjoyed this meal with me too".
So blogging, then, is selfishness by altruism. I want to share my life with you (the altruism), because the more I share, the more pleasure I get (the selfishness). But sharing with close friends and family is very different from including every stranger on the internet.
Not showing off
For example, showing your travel photographs to your grandmother is hardly showing off, but carrying them around with you and displaying them to every acquaintance probably is. Following on, what is it when you post those pictures on Facebook for every friend, close and distant, to see?
If most humans still lived in large, intertwined family units, like the Indian joint family, I wonder if we would have as many bloggers out there. I'm willing to bet the answer is no. So does this mean that to blog is an instinctual drive, a mark of the social nature of the beast?
Among the many requirements for a long and happy life, apart from mundanities such as calcium and exercise, is having a big, happy family. A large reason for Italian longevity, they say, is because Italians, traditionally at least, take the time to sit down and eat together in large family units. This means that pandering to our social nature is key to our survival, and so, if you live a long way from family, online networking is essential to a long and happy life. This means you must exercise, eat well, take your vitamins and write a post each day telling us all about it.
There is some pressure here though: if you don't make it interesting, you'll bore your near and dear ones to an untimely death, and there will be no one but strangers left to share with.
Gautam Raja is a journalist based in the US.
