During the relaunch of my site, I was forced to read and edit all of my posts as I migrated them from the old site.  While that process was completed last month, the task of relocating them from one platform to another, of reviewing each of them individually, provided me with an experience which continues to beckon from the far reaches of my consciousness.

It was interesting, ill defined as that statement suggests, for me to explore the archives of this web site — of my mind — and look over old entries, many of which I had completely forgotten writing.  Despite my protestations to the contrary (to myself, nonetheless!), some are very badly composed, others are embarrassingly trite, a few had bad grammar and/or bad punctuation, and I even found a misspelling here and there.  I even admit to discovering those fabled and rare opinions from my past with which I now completely disagree.  I challenge you to determine what that means, if anything.

Such pieces are thankfully sparse.  Or would you prefer "meager" in that context?

On the other hand, a few of those posts clearly present a unique voice, an opinion, view or experience altogether my own.  It is in those very posts that I discover — and rediscover — my own existence.  There is significant depth within me, depth beyond this presentation, but I am, to a certain degree, at least the sum of these ramblings.  While writing has always been an outlet for me, chronicling my thoughts online, a place where all the world could see if they somehow became lost and stumbled across my site, was at first alien and disorienting.

With time, day by day and entry by entry, blogging has become more enjoyable to me.  It has equally become more natural, although that aspect of this experiment is less noteworthy because the need to chronicle my existence is simply a part of me.  I have written since I was much younger.  The pinnacle of this need is nothing more than to express in writing what I feel, think, believe…  You understand.

I started this web site in February 2003.  It is now October 2005.  That is almost three years of endless babble and my ongoing experiment.  I have found direction in my voice and strength in my writing ability.  I have found the experience to be, thus far, on the whole successful.  What defines that success and how it is measured appear to be dynamic, unattainable targets which serve no other purpose than driving me to write.