I love September, like all of us do. The crisp, cooler mornings, changing colours, comfy sweaters, stars in the early morning, sunsets in the evening. The sky is a more vibrant blue; the sun somehow shimmers softly, even as it warms the skin.
This morning I was up very early but have sadly frittered away the time. Having less responsibilities on Fridays often means a second cup of coffee, watching reels of teachers aghast at the state of education, checking YouTube for new videos, wandering in the kitchen, staring out the window at the latest deer-chewed flower stalks, nibbling a Second or Third Breakfast. And when I have Much To Say, sitting down at the computer I am prompted to remember emails I really should send, an appointment needing to be made, and other computerly distractions. It will only take a moment, I tell myself. But no, an hour passes and suddenly I feel less inspired, body stiff and sore, and heart a little lonely. I want to go outside. My coffee is ice cold. I don’t care that much about writing anymore.
I’ve noticed over the years that blog posts I spent a lot of time thinking about, fully-formed sculptures of ideas, often get little traction. Very few people notice them. If I wanted to pay more money to WordPress I could get my writing blasted out there to all and sundry, but I simply don’t care that much and I’m too frugal for this nonsense. (Remind me of this if I cave and suddenly my writing “blows up” and “goes viral” after I sell my soul to capitalism!)
No, what readers want is spilled guts all over the page. How am I REALLY feeling, what mess did I make of my life, or my day… yada yada. The gory details. And I get it; it’s much more interesting to hear what precisely that awful student said, or the intricacies of someone’s incompetence than general musing about the state of education in North America. I get it! I bore myself sometimes.
Similarly, I read recently that the more negative videos on YouTube receive far more views than positive ones. Those “Don’t Waste Your Life” videos are always popular, or “I’m Losing It”, or “Why I Quit My Job” or something in that vein. These are Stories for Humans, after all, and humans will be human-ing. We are intrigued by the suffering or the mistakes and messiness of our fellow earth travelers, and it makes sense. We want to know that we aren’t alone. We aren’t the only one who started the coffee with no ground beans in the filter, we aren’t the only ones who don’t understand the meaning of life, or ran out of gas on the freeway.
We aren’t the only ones worried sick about our kids, or struggling to make ends meet, or who don’t feel like going to church on Sunday. I don’t believe it’s morbid fascination as much as simple camaraderie that we crave. The struggle is real, or at least it seems real when someone else is going through it, too.
Back in 2021 Steve Burns, the Blue’s Clues kid’s show guy, had a TikTok video go viral where he simply asked viewers how they were doing with respectful, quiet moments afterward for people to respond. Millions of views. Heartfelt replies, tears, real talk about how those who had grown up watching Blues Clues were finding life hard, were having trouble not giving up. It resonated in a big way.
Now in 2025, Steve is launching a new podcast called “Alive”, citing that he has been thinking about how to keep that connection open with former viewers of his show that ran from 1998 to 2002, but in more of a grown-up way. I haven’t watched the podcast so I can’t vouch for it here, but I love the idea. True human connection is rare, and I think Steve has recognized he has a precious gift. I think about this myself in regard to former students and wonder sometimes if I’m doing enough to let them know I still care, or if leaving the memories in the past and just letting them live their lives is the best gift I can give now.
The truth about blogging is that it takes a lot of time. Sitting in a chair and typing away while your toes grow numb from cold and the beautiful day wears on outside can be disheartening. Perhaps writing should be a winter activity. It may only take a few minutes to read, but writing and editing, looking for just the right word or image, scrapping entire sections or re-writing the whole thing takes actual hours. Hours that seem perhaps a waste, especially when the stats show only a handful of people read it. There are always kind and faithful readers who comment and encourage, and for that I’m grateful.
Why do I write then, if it’s such a chore?
I began a blog way back in 2009. The reasons I stated on Blogger were, “I write for fun and for practice”. The goal was always years away, when I would write that book or publish those poems, or maybe put an article in a magazine or online platform. I can’t legitimately say I write for practice after almost two decades of “practice”. Mostly the goal has stayed out of reach due to life’s more urgent requests, work, volunteering, and simply being too tired. And I have to ask myself if there honestly was a goal, or I just made that up to give a purpose to all this writing that few ever read.
Maybe it was about sharing bits of myself, about connection, all along. Too much sharing leaves one feeling vulnerable and over-exposed. People think they know you. Too little sharing, and we become forgotten islands with no name, the ones where pirates are put ashore to perish. (Perhaps there is rum?) I used to want desperately to be understood, particularly as a teenager. Now, I’m content with mystery.
Will I keep writing? Probably. But it’s not for fun or for practice, it’s not even because there are stories and ideas straining at the gates. Writing just flows out of my fingers. At times the words by-pass my brain, true, but mostly they flow through the halls of the mind. Today, I let them run out onto the page without ceremony. No standing and waiting, no dressing up, no orderly procession. More of a sack race, really, or a container of sprinkles with the lid off, knocked onto the kitchen floor.
Thanks for reading and connecting. If you enjoyed this, comment on the blog as it makes a difference, even if it’s just a smiley face. Until next time, let’s get outside and drink in that September glory.
Stories for Humans 