What Happens When You Stop Blogging?

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I wasn't hiding out here. — I wasn’t hiding out here.

I don’t know what happens when you stop blogging because I have never stopped for longer than five days. Heck, unless I am mistaken the past five days in which I didn’t update the blog is the longest time I have gone without blogging…ever.

Ok sticklers, let me qualify that and say it is the longest time I have gone since I started blogging in ’04. It is probably worth noting I rarely update two or three times a day as I used to, so in some respects it feels like I hardly blog at all.

Unplanned Unplugging

I hadn’t planned on unplugging for as long as I did, it just worked out that way.

I went on a short trip and decided not to bring my laptop with me and didn’t feel like typing on my phone or iPad.Â I took notes about what happened around me and had a million different experiences that I could have written about, but never did feel the urge to share it with you.

Can’t remember the last time I didn’t feel like blogging, but I just didn’t feel it.

There were one or two times where I sort of wondered why I wasn’t typing. There were moments where I wondered why I wasn’t taking heed of my own advice to write daily but most of the time I just didn’t care.

So I unplugged from the blogosphere and did other things.

It was very pleasant.

Did Anyone Care?

A few days into the “unplanned unplugging”? I took a look at my stats and noticed that there wasn’t much of a dip or change. Those of you who are most devoted checked in on a regular basis and the rest of you did whatever it is you do when you aren’t here.

The question of “Did anyone care” is really more rhetorical than anything else.

Most of want to think that our absence would be noted immediately and that the world would stop spinning if we weren’t around to share our tales but the reality for most of us is different.

People move on and find new things to read/watch/do.

Would I like things to be otherwise? Would I like for people to gnash their teeth and beg me to come back?

Maybe.

Really

Really, I am not sure about it.

Part of me likes the idea. Part of me likes it because everyone wants to feel wanted, loved, needed and valued. But part of me doesn’t like it much. It reminds me of a story I just read about Michael Jordan.

It was really interesting and I could write about multiple sections, but this one is of particular interest to me:

Jordan is alone.

He hates being alone, because that means it’s quiet, and he doesn’t like silence. He can’t sleep without noise. Sleep has always been a struggle for him. All the late-night card games, the trips to the casino during the playoffs, they’ve been misunderstood. They weren’t the disease, they were the cure. They provided noise, distraction, a line of defense. He didn’t even start drinking until he was 27 and complained of insomnia to a doctor. Have a few beers after the game, he was advised. That would knock off the edge.

I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to be the guy who becomes so important to everyone else they are willing to cater to his every whim, even if it goes beyond selfish.

I don’t want to be the guy who can’t rest at night because he can’t find a way to be at peace with himself. I don’t know what it means to be the best ever at anything, but I know something about a fire in the belly and the desire to chase after the faeries of the night.

I know what it means to burn, but I also know what it means to close my eyes at night and feel good because I did what I needed to do and I am excited about the next day. That article makes me wonder about Jordan.