My love affair with blogging began when I was 4 years old.
An unlikely claim, sure. Obviously, the internet did not exist back then, nor could I read or write. Perhaps more accurately, the blogger’s spirit was born out of activities directly traceable to my preschool self.
Wielding my red crayon in hand, a never-ending stack of construction paper was my story board. I discovered early on that I had a voice, a passion for story telling. Channelling my frenetic energy into an expendable creative force, I began churning out stories with a feverish intensity. I drew pictures and dictated the narrative to my mother, who helped transcribe my thoughts into their natural written form. Of course, my characters were mostly animals, and my stories chronicled their everyday adventures. (Unfortunately for them, however, there was always conflict or tragedy involved.) I would like to say that these were sophisticated allegories, rife with complex meaning. As a wee tot, I was merely flexing my creative strong-arm before sitting down to write the next Moby Dick. Well, maybe not. But the seeds had been planted, the passion cultivated. A dangerous thing to be sown into an impressionable young mind.
As a natural progression, I got my first computer, a Windows 1997 PC, when I was 8 years old. By this point, the Digital Revolution was well on its way. America was online—and so was I. This, I will argue, changed everything.
Growing up in Southern New England, my world was small and comfortable. In fact, my state is the smallest in the country—although with the best damn seafood you’ll ever encounter. Surrounded by a close-knit family, the Providence city sprawl, and a hell of a lot of water, my identity was anchored by two grounding characteristics in particular: Rhode Island culture and an Italian heritage. My world was a bubble, albeit one shaped like a cannoli.
Despite their apparent inability to stop micromanaging all other areas of my life, my doting parents—bless their hearts—were strictly laissez-faire when it came to learning. Active around the clock, I was heavily involved in school and athletics and excelled at both. Still, I was perpetually curious. The internet was my intellectual stomping grounds, and anything was fair game. My creative childsplay from earlier years set a strong precedent to follow.
Here, the tides finally turned. There was something positively addicting about this emerging Information Age. I continued to write. My narrational voice began to mature as I utilized the tools of the time to explore new economies of exression: I created “zines” with friends and published websites on freely available platforms (Geocities, anyone?). In middle school, however, I began blogging for real. I didn’t know much about the world, but I was eager—hungry, even—to learn: about science, politics, social injustices. I was 12 years old around the time when the first real blogging platforms emerged. It began to change the way I saw the world in a fundamentally important way, destabilizing my sense of self and expanding my experiential reality. There is a direct correlation between my involvement in the blog-o-sphere and my escape from my private Catholic school near my hometown. My values began to develop. I gained a new sense of what moved me. One thing led to another, and I was ruined. Rhode Island girl, gone renegade.
To illustrate, one particular encounter stands out as particularly damning evidence of my newly acquired world view and the effects it had upon me as a learner. I remember in 7th grade, a teacher proposed the following homework assignment: relate a personal experience that proves the existence of God. The smart ass I was, I raised my demure, adolescent hand and replied that it was impossible to prove such a thing. My objection had absolutely nothing to do with religion and everything to do with science; I was concerned with factual accuracy, the scientific method, and the logical burden of proof. Perhaps I took the assignment too literally, but make no mistake about it, I wanted the definitions to be clear. For the sake of science.
I got detention for that one. Needless to say, I got out of there quickly. I went to boarding school and joined a global community of learners; later, my academic interests lead me to attend an elite southern university. And here I am, still writing about science.
Ultimately, this might not tell you any revealing facts about me, but it describes an important catalyst during the formative years of my life. Through blogging, I gained passion, voice, and personal resolve. We have an epistemological duty to understand why we think the way we do and why. Early on, I learned the importance of asking questions. I believe knowledge-seeking is a virtue, and cultivating virtuous qualities is an important part of living a meaningful life. To find out what moves you is a worthwhile life project in itself, and surely the only way to achieve personal authenicity.
My autobiography is still a work in progress. I march to the beat of my own drum, just like everyone else. Despite colossal disappointments and devastating failures, I can say that I live an authentic life. The rest is inconsequential. And anyway, as a fine man once said: the secret to being a bore…is to tell everything. I much prefer though experiments.
