My formative experiences of the web were simple. I first remember seeing a computer hooked up to the internet when I was at a summer music clinic. A particularly nerdy camper (and it was band camp. so of course we were all nerdy) was posting to an interface that to my eyes seemed incomprehensible, and I paid little notice. A few years later, AOL dial-up internet brought Instant Messenger to our house, and in the days before my social circle had reached ubiquitous cell phone status, it was the gold standard in teenage communication. Soon, a few friends got on Myspace or LiveJournal, and while I occasionally read them there with some interest, I never felt enticed to join. Like so many others, it was Facebook that brought me into the world of social media.

Whatever Facebook was in those days (and I suspect my remembrances are susceptible to the hazy romanticization of youth), and whatever it was originally intended to be, it now seems incontrovertible to me that the rot has set in. I left Facebook a couple years ago, though this was not the result of any great virtuous transformation on my part–I had simply lost interest in it. The fact that Facebook–and, indeed, all social media–have begun to cause far more harm than is necessary or defensible only made the leaving easier.

And yet…there were lingering doubts. My browsing of a slightly different medium, Twitter, led to 99% wasted time, which I always regretted, but also a smattering of pearls–new voices and differing minds doing interesting work. What opportunities for discovery like these did I miss by not being part of an online community? Additionally, family members would comment that they missed seeing pictures of what I or the kids were up to, and had become accustomed to seeing via Facebook. And after attending grad school a few years ago, I was reminded of how much I missed writing, which I did with great frequency in high school and college. In returning to school, I honed a practice of reading, note-taking, and writing that reminded me of something that I had often tried to explain to my students but was doing a poor job of living out myself: the conjunction of these three practices created an incredibly fertile atmosphere for deep and creative thinking.* But I also came to realize that if my writings and reflections never left my books and my hard drive, the work would suffer or I would give it up entirely in the end. This is not to say that my work is some great gift to the world, but that I have come to realize that if I did not submit my work to public examination–if I did not at least have the very real possibility of other wiser and more knowledgable readers finding or even responding to my words–my work would become ever more slipshod.

So, in short, I needed a place where I could connect with other people that share my interests, if only peripherally, so that I could discover and grow. I needed a place where I could post intermittently about life in a format that loved ones could easily enjoy. And I needed a place where others could plausibly find and read my work so that I could be held intellectually accountable for the ideas I would try out and play around with. So here I am on micro.blog. After reading @ayjay online at his excellent blog The Homebound Symphony and elsewhere, I came to the conclusion that this may be just what I am looking for.

As I embark on this project, I cannot say where it will go, and I certainly cannot promise the reader enlightenment. Here you will see musings about goings on in my little part of the world. You may see pictures of my family, my dog, and of my travels. I’ll probably complain about sports. And there will be reflections on my reading–this is the part that most excites me, and that I fully realize may be of interest only to me. But if the good reader finds here, despite the considerable limitations of your humble blogger, even a kernel of useful insight, then may He from whom all truth comes and to whom it shall return be praised.

*I don’t claim that this is the only way to think deeply, or even the best way, but it seems to me it is uniquely suited to our post-Gutenberg environment.