what?? a whole year??

Underwood No. 5

Underwood No. 5 - a classic

I’m back.

The recent “status” on my Facebook page said it all:
“I tried to not get into arguments over nothing. Then I realized that was a double negative and that I had to get into arguments over something after all. So there.”

I took a break. I wanted to concentrate on something else but mostly I wanted to get away from the negative side of blogging. There was enormous self-imposed pressure to reply to especially argumentative comments. It sapped my energies and ground away at the personal joy of blogging. Worse, I came to dislike certain individuals who were determined to draw me into what they called “debate.” I began to call them jackals.

These jackals didn’t really want debate. Their intent was to beat me over the head with stale counter-opinions until either my skull or I caved in. they weren’t that interested in introducing me to new, intriguing ideas. At some point, it just didn’t make sense to allow these jackals so much control over my own sense of happiness and well-being.

So I left. Without notice. I just stopped posting. I cannot believe its been a whole year.  Ho-leh!

I’d already ended one blog at another host and moved to this one specifically to lose the jackals. I did it so I might concentrate on writing; the joy, loneliness and constant struggle to put words together in a way that make them glow like a rainbow.

Even if my writing was political commentary, mostly but not completely on Indigneous issues, I wanted my posts to be insightful, thoughtful, and an expression of passionate personal opinion based on a life of learning, travel, contemplation and experience. Occasionally, I ventured into humour or satire. Despite the best laid plans, though, I didn’t realize the power of the word “Shmohawk.”

Aside from one description of the word “shmohawk” as a male appendage, according to a Yiddish dictionary, another and perhaps the main meaning is shit-disturber; an argumentive sort, part contrarian and indiscriminate puller of beards. In some ways, this fits with what I consider the role of a journalist in society – chosen profession for most of my life. Which, of course, leads me to another favourite topic.

But I’ll leave that for now until I take the time to write about it. Soon.

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