I wrote this back in September of 2002. I was living in Indiana post-college and working my first full-time job. I had a mango-colored mohawk.

Though I had a weekly newsletter in college and eventually started putting them on my webpage (my friends asked me to tell them via email when the new newsletter was up—RSS feeds were still two years away) my first real blogging was done for a friend's website, Beatchild.

Evidently, they let just anyone post on this website. For example, I have spent all of my witty comments for the day in other locations, yet this post is published with little to no concern for its quality. Perhaps this is a lesson we, as walking humanoid (rather than human) automatons can learn living in our post-authentic existence. Always make sure that what you have to say is worthwhile, because chances are good that you're the only one listening. To bore another is disrespectful, to bore oneself is downright criminal.

I'm extremely proud that my first entry intro the blogosphere clearly shows that I am aware of my limited (I prefer the term "elite") audience and equally limited writing skills. My karma was pointed in the right direction.

My second post followed two weeks later, a few days after my 25th birthday.

I've come to two simultaneous conclusions. First, that I am completely, utterly, and terribly alone. Everything from the goals that I reach for, the obstacles that hold me back, and the criteria I use to measure my progress are perceived by and pertain to me alone. Profound sadness and loneliness followed this realization. Second, I discovered that I am surrounded by people exactly like me. We all are completely, utterly, and terribly alone. We all feel as though no one can understand, if they even cared to try, our personal trials, triumphs, and tragedies. We are all sad and we are all lonely. This realization had not quite the opposite effect. Sadness and loneliness metamorphosed not into happiness and gregariousness, but a distant hope that--someday--we can all let these walls that separate us fall to the ground and get back to living together. I did not find this to be any less uplifting.

It caused several of my friends and family to pull me aside and ask me if I needed a hug. Some suggested counseling. I'm just marveling at how I managed to go from humble "make sure that what you have to say is worthwhile" to over-the-top emotional confessions in the span of two weeks. It's what blogging does to you, I guess.

I mean, look at me, I'm blogging about myself blogging (about blogging). Maybe I do need counseling.