It’s strange for me to think how I’ve been blogging for three and a bit years now. It’s strange because when I started, I met some fellow bloggers and got – invested? Attached? Too close? – to their musings, their stories and their voice. I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve but I didn’t expect to be drawn to this.
In the beginning, they would challenge my perspective, offering fresh insight. I recall someone writing to me and asking if I would talk more about the psychology behind Dominance and how it relates to me – things I never considered, or at least took for granted as they were every day material for me. I recall talking to someone about their frustrations towards their own marriage, offering what little counsel a regular Joe like me could. I recall challenging perceptions of readers as they challenged mine, all kindly of course. Most of all I recall that investment in their lives as much as how they could invest in my own.
And then their words would stop. Their journey through life and kink and BDSM would go on outside of the interwebs. That could be for any number of reason – personal, lack of interest, maybe they felt they said all that COULD be said (a fear of mine to be sure) – or maybe life, ever the meddling mistress, got in the way.
So then comes a new group of bloggers, each with their own distinct voice and perspective, each with their own attitudes and backgrounds – to challenge me, to chew a piece of my mind, to understand.
It’s strange to consider that, in terms of the Internet and WordPress, or even in BDSM, that I may be a dinosaur. An ageing lizard. I mean, three years is a long time to blog. Will there be a point where I just start to repeat myself? Will I become obsolete? AM I obsolete?
My mind is drawn to one specific encounter – a tumblr account, now deactivated – I don’t blame that, Tumblr can be weird – who said my words had inspired her to seek the D/s life she’s always wanted. I still hold that as a badge of honour – again, because I’m a regular Joe that struggles with self worth. But then, for whatever reason, this person disappears.
At this point I would put the phone in which I scribble thoughts down, turn to my best advisor, kitten, and say ‘Am I over thinking things?’. ‘Am I over-thinking things?’ – a question I’ll often ask her during a misunderstanding between family, friends, work or when I’m writing a long-winded piece such as this.
Still, the idea that I’m some sort of relic – a dinosaur, a fussy Daddy, a fuddy Duddy, an old man blogger, one of the last of the few that signed up in 2015 to blog and is still writing, who knows – it just makes me wonder what sort of relevance I can bring? Or if I’ll be disconnected from the ever-changing landscape?
Or maybe I’m just over thinking.