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The Seated View is old enough to vote.

I feel very much like I imagine any parent when their child hits this magic number: proud, a little teary, and consumed with the memories of the past eighteen years. There was the overwhelm of the first month or two when you convince you’re going to drop (metaphorically) the baby and break it. The heart-in-your-mouth sensation when watching it take its first independent steps (in my case, that was probably when someone saw the blog and wanted to pay me to write for them), the teen years of watching your child grow into a beautiful person (migrating from Blogger to where we are now), and the older teens when they’re so busy having a life that they never call home. Which is the last year or two when there’s been very little blogging due to things like limited energy.

It’s been a trip and a treat, one that has taught me much about writing and brought me to new adventures and friends. But given the lack of attention I’ve paid to the site for a while now and at a time when most of the world seems to have moved on to video, why am I still blogging?

The answer remains very similar to why I began blogging in 2005. Aside from having a place to host my longer-form thoughts and opinions — of which I have many — it’s about meaning. Witnessing a different kind of life in the hope that it might help others.

I live with chronic illness and disability, something that places me in the category of being a member of a marginalized group. Most of the world pays little attention to us beyond the occasional awareness event, momentary sympathy when reading an article, or perhaps they think, for a moment, of how lucky they are to not be like me. When I write about what it’s like to live with chronic pain, to be wheelchair user, and the intricacies of day-to-day life with rheumatoid arthritis (RA). I do this to shine a light on a type of life that is usually hidden, to be one voice in a chorus of many working to build an understanding so we can remove barriers to inclusion, both personal and societal.

In many ways, The Seated View is about me working to find meaning in an illness experience that has often seemed random and meaningless. It’s taken me decades to learn to live (mostly) well with RA, fibromyalgia, chronic pain, and disability. If sharing my experience can help someone else take a shortcut through the lessons and get to a better life more quickly… Well, then it’s all worth it. That’s how I create meaning in this absurd existence. I don’t believe I developed this illness for the purpose of helping others. Rather, it’s that I had to learn the hard way how to cope and create a life in the midst of pain and damage and people shouldn’t have to learn the hard way anymore. It might sound hokey to say that this is my calling, but it’s what lies underneath it all.

Celebrating my blogiversary during Arthritis Awareness Month in the US has an extra layer of meaning. What started in the personal became about helping others in the community and that led to advocacy. There is such an incredible feeling of home when you meet others who live in the same space as you, who know how you feel. And the more people you meet, the more you realize that joining your voices to each other will do more than each of you can do separately. Because no one should have to learn the hard way anymore. No one should have to face these same barriers anymore. That’s where advocacy starts. As I like to say, first you make friends and then you make change.

And boy, do I ever have a lot of friends, most of whom I’ve never met. I didn’t know how important a community was before I found one online, one that embraced me, nurtured me, challenged me, and helped me grow.

So that’s why I still blog after 18 years. This little corner of the Internet is where my ideas take hold and grow, a place that nourishes my passion for creating change, a signal light that helps other passionate advocates to find me, and a place that keeps the flames of my calling lit.

Thank you for being on this journey with me. I can’t imagine my life without you.