This one is for a different purpose, one perhaps more in keeping with the intent that my friend, the Otter, had in mind when he urged me to start a blog. He claims to enjoy some of the emails I’ve sent him, correspondence in which I often took on more serious topics.
With my letters to the Otter, I came to realize that writing helps me to examine, organize and be more critical of my own thinking. In large part that’s because he can spot weak arguments and shaky logic and calls me on them. As I’ve mentioned in Uncle Genie, the Otter is the only person I know who can argue with me without getting upset—which tends to get me upset.
So here’s my concern: Who cares?
I really don’t believe the world needs one more yahoo telling folks what to think or how things ought to be. Nor do I reckon that I have such terribly original thoughts that the universe would be a lesser place if it wasn’t privileged to hear my mind. Finally, I’m not delusional enough to think that my writing style is all that entertaining.
I guess when it comes right down to it, I’m writing here for the same reason that I’ve written to the Otter or in other venues: I have to. I just can’t rest easy when there’s an idea rolling around in my head. I need to set it out, read through it over and over, and then put it in a place where someone else could weigh it, criticize it, argue about it, agree with it, develop it—whether that actually happens or not. Besides, if I have any pretensions toward changing others’ minds, I have to be willing to hear notions that would change my own. It’s the process, the potential, that tests my consistency and my honesty to myself.
Perhaps a bit of a compulsion, eh? Whatever.
