I recently used WordPress’s tracking feature to see who’s been accessing my blog.
Not that it takes long.
Hardly a dozen eyeballs a week find their way there.
Notice I didn’t say read or comment.
Still, over the last few years, one post keeps drawing attention—month after month.
It’s the piece I wrote about Abraham traveling west from Ur.
I had wondered what kind of stories he might have told around the campfire.
He came from a foreign ruling class.
He was probably literate in Sumerian.
So I researched Sumerian proverbs—thinking they might be entertaining,
and maybe even plausible campfire content.
Apparently, others are curious too.
It remains the most popular post on my blog.
I started the blog about four years ago, partly in response to retirement.
I say “partly” because it’s still unclear which motive actually kickstarted it.
I had taught blogging and digital media in my classes,
but didn’t have time for my own voice back then.
I was on Facebook—mostly lurking, mostly connecting with students.
After retiring, people asked what I was doing with all my new free time.
I went through several hobbies.
Each one began with intensity, with “project mode.”
And within a few weeks—done.
Eventually, I got tired of listing the burnt-out hobbies.
So I made something up:
“Well,” I’d say, “I spend a good amount of time pondering—and writing blog posts.”
Except… I wasn’t.
Naturally, that convicted me.
I do ponder—especially when time allows.
And I did profess, when I had a classroom.
So why not write it down?
Why not archive those thoughts in a publicly accessible space?
I didn’t think it through.
Now, years later, part of me wants to make some serious edits.
Not everything pondered should see the light of day.
Especially not years later.
Still, I found myself looking back—scrolling through the history of my posts.
One of the first was about Ivan Illich,
the thinker, educator, and radical critic of institutions.
Rereading it now, I marvel at the sheer lack of discipline—
the wandering, the sweeping generalities,
the big looping circles of thought.
Almost like a bird. Or fish.
Thought murmurations.
That’s how I think.
And really—who has the time to read through that?
A Work Progressing 