Changes in Journal Land

Is it just me, or is journal land changing? Perhaps the novelty has worn off. We are well into our second year of existence here. Leaders have sprung up, poured their hearts, souls, and what had to have been every moment of their spare time (and then some) into creating the structure and tone of the journal experience, then burned out and disappeared. The folks that were most hyperactive about our little corner of the cyber-world have either settled into a more energy-efficient membership in the community, abandoned the concept entirely, or gone on to bigger and better things.

Wasn’t it only a month ago that I myself wrote what I thought might be my "swan song" entry? I did need to take a step back, to examine the things that tied me to this place, and to disentangle myself from the unhealthy parts of the attachment. But that time of reflection helped me to understand that I really like it here. I came back not as a slave to some sick dependency, but because I chose to come back. I need to write. I like to write here, where I have people who have come to know me and appreciate my point of view. I have things I want to communicate, and because of my lack of…shall we say, more traditional social contacts, this is the forum where I can reach the largest number of people with the things I want to say. Not like writing a syndicated column, or a letter to the editor, or even a club newsletter. More like a conversation among a roomful of friends.

Yet, more than that… I can be one-on-one with some special people, even as I’m sharing my thoughts with a larger group; a dynamic that no other medium provides. Those of us who understand and appreciate this, and thrive in the environment, have remained, watching the parade of new journalers come, burn out or lose interest, and go.

Earlier this week, I was reminded, by the experience of another journaler who has chosen to depart, that the on-line world can be a world of fiction, intrigue, and outright lies. How do we know that the people we think we’ve come to know are actually what they’ve represented themselves to be? How do we know when we read that someone is struggling with a chronic disease, or has a parent dying of cancer, or has a child headed toward self-destruction, that these are real things happening to real people, and not just folks taking the opportunity to write fiction and see how it plays with the public?  Well, we don't.  We must exercise a certain amount of blind faith. We do risk being duped, looking foolish, when we become involved with people we’ve never seen and most probably will never meet face-to-face. But I--one of the most cynical and negative people I know--think it is a risk worth taking.