I've set a goal for myself to write at least one post per week for this blog. This week I encountered the conundrum. The more I write about myself, the more this begins to feel like an exercise in narcissism or at least an unhealthy obsession with all things inward. However, if I choose to write about others, I may well hurt or offend when my intent is only to revel in the stories that all our lives encompass.
Even the stories about myself are somewhat limited to those that do not include material that is hurtful to others, even indirectly. I see the temptation to create fiction. True stories involve real people who might be injured by my attempts to recount a tale.
And so I feel stymied this week.
The answer may be to reach back to times that involve people who could hardly be connected with me now. I am hard pressed to think of one person I have know well who became a celebrity in the sense of being widely known for even months, much less years. The farther back I go, the less likely that anyone would recognize someone I am writing about.
I welcome comments on this matter if anyone cares enough to have an opinion.