Last week, I had an interaction with someone on Facebook that made me stop and seriously question why I write. The original post, a personal introduction in a group for people with the same Myers-Briggs Personality Type (MBTI), was made under my Facebook profile designated for this blog, The Curated Man. I have a personal Facebook profile as well, but that is used for my friends and family. I use my personal profile to post about personal things. You know, stuff about my kid, my wife, baseball, barbecue (real bbq…smoking and such). Things I won’t post about in a group with over 100,000 members.

While my introduction was widely met with warm welcomes, one person commented with a single word, “Advertisement.” Immediately realizing that they perceived my posting with my Curated Man profile as promoting my writing efforts, I tried to offer them an explanation in hopes that it would relieve the skepticism they might hold about my intentions. I receive no compensation for my little blog. They weren’t willing to concede ground on their assessment of me. I don’t judge them for being wary. However, the interaction did spur me into thinking more intently about the reasons I write.

The primary reason I write is completely selfish. It is a cathartic experience for me. It’s cheaper than therapy. In its simplest form, it is a journal. It allows me to take the random thoughts racing through my head, organize them in a coherent fashion, and create something tangible. It is my feeble attempt at artistic expression. If nobody reads what I write, that’s ok. I’ve still created something that is a reflection of me and the world we live in.

The second big reason that I choose to write is more altruistic. We live in a connected society, as much as some people wish they didn’t. Many are on a journey of trying to understand the world and themselves within that world. My family is well-versed in my experiences and philosophy, only able to withstand small doses of my ramblings. The reality is that most people are not interested in what I have to say. I’m fine with that. But maybe, out there somewhere, is someone on a journey similar to my own. With over 8 billion people on this planet, maybe there are some out there that could benefit by reading a few of my words. Statistically, there have to be at least 20 people out there that meet that criteria. So, for those who might stumble upon my little WordPress blog, I put my thoughts out into the world in hopes that it might in some way help them.

There is another reason I write. It’s another reason why I don’t just keep a private journal. As I make my 52nd trip around the Sun, there are countless times when I wish I could ask my parents for their advice. I wonder what they would have thought about a specific situation. I lost my dad when I was 21. I lost my Mom when I was 30. The older I become, the more I wish I had opportunities to know what they thought about life. Things I didn’t have the wisdom to ask when I was younger. One day, my daughter will likely find herself in the same position. How nice would it be if I could go back and read about what my parents thought about life? So, in that spirit, I will continue to string words together and commit my thoughts to a state of digital immortality. One day, after I’m gone, my daughter will at least have an opportunity to read about my thoughts.

I enjoy writing. There were times when I thought I could make a little extra money with my writing. I soon realized that in the blogging world, making money requires creating a lot of material. It requires consistently pumping out copious amounts of content, all in an effort to stay on the forethought of peoples’ minds. I soon found myself dreading the whole experience. What I created wouldn’t resonate with me. There was no joy. As a result, I decided not to use my blog in that manner. Perhaps one day, I’ll decide to write a book. Maybe, I won’t. As long as I still feel a spark of inspiration which occasionally results in a few paragraphs worthy of sharing, I’ll be just fine.

So, if you see me on social media as The Curated Man, know I’m not there for any purpose other than to interact with people. It means I chose to keep a little piece of myself reserved for those with whom I’ve developed some kind of relationship in the past. It’s merely a partition between my personal self and my less personal self.