Why am I writing a blog?


Having toyed with the idea of starting a blog for a few years now, I can only think that the fortuitous alignment of chance, idleness, and innumerable other factors, have lead me to take the plunge today. Even as I was mechanically setting up my account, the big question at the back of my mind was, why I was even doing this? Now, I am a firm believer that self-interest, and some form of self-gratification are the drivers of all (okay, at least 99.9999%) human actions. So what am I expecting out of this? Perhaps, I have a subliminal desire that this blog will become the next freakonomics.com or fivethirtyeight.com. But I am grounded enough to realize that I am no purveyor of unique insight into the workings of “Life, the universe and everything” more than the average person. So this blog is certainly not going to set the internet on fire. I do not intend this to be a personal memoir, and I am sure that it will not be about my family or my relationships. I can write about health and disease, but I am reluctant to add to the enormous and confusing mess of opinions already on the web. I enjoy travel and am fortunate enough to do a good amount of it for work. But sitting in meetings all day does not provide interesting material for a travel blog. I certainly do not want to write about politics. The hallmark of a true liberal, I believe, is the ability to remain non-judgmental and accepting of all other political positions. The very act of taking a political position would jeopardize my aspiration to be one.



So I conclude that it must be pure self-indulgence. I have always enjoyed reading good writing. I believe, wanting to write is simply an extension of this pleasure, similar to what we derive out of trying to sing a song we love (to the annoyance of everyone within earshot). However, I think that there is one other reason that is unique to my circumstance. I have been writing for medical journals for some time now. Medical writing today by and large is a killjoy, save for the holiday issues of the occasional British journal. Reading pleasure has been sacrificed for precision and parsimony. Maybe I just want to indulge myself by writing unfettered prose. But in doing so, I will strive to be mindful of you the reader, just as the amateur singer (should be) of her involuntary audience.

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