When I began blogging a few months ago, I kept the endeavor to myself. I wanted to get my feet wet, to see if my efforts would catch momentum and morph into a new pastime before embarrassing myself by promoting something that died before going to press.

Around my thirtieth or so post, it became clear I’d crossed the barrier between fading interest and enthusiasm. I’d personalized my page, linked to my photography and even bought myself a small digital camera – for those moments one just has to capture in effort to write the perfect essay.

I adore the dialogue in my comments section and the sense of community this format provides. I’ve connected with some incredible people, feeling so grateful our paths have crossed. After leaving my job teaching art, I’ve discovered an outlet for my creativity – the lack of which has been gnawing on my psyche since my cross-country move. And, I’ve regained a passageway to understanding myself in relation to the world. Starting this blog has been a good thing for me, in the spiritually fulfilling sense.

But the one thing missing was the presence of The Philosopher.

I began dropping casual hints: “What did you do today?” he’d ask.

“Wrote an article for my blog,” I’d answer, waiting for him to ask how he might find his way here. Silence. Hmm.

I tried luring him in with flattery: “That’s the most clever thing you’ve ever said, I think I’ll steal it and put it in my blog.” Silence. Again.

I tempted him with the brilliance of others, telling him about the comedians, the thinkers, the activists and all other brands of fabulous writers I’ve encountered. No bite. Not even a nibble.

Then I pulled out the big guns and began firing off threats: “If you don’t stop that right now, Mister, I’ll blog about it! Ten million people could discover what you just did!” No tremble or cower. Not even a whimper.

Finally, I came right out and said it (who says women are hard to figure out?): “I am waiting for you to ask to see my blog.” Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. My feelings were hurt. I didn’t understand his disinterest. I began obsessing about it. Had our relationship reached an impasse – I mean, when your beloved doesn’t want to see your blog, doesn’t that mean something . . . something bad?

I distracted myself by writing a piece about The Philosopher’s basketball games. And then I waited, as women do, for those three little words they need to hear when feeling insecure, unworthy or both. Just a little affirmation was all I needed. And finally, those three words passed his lips . . .

“Where’s your blog?”

Be still, my heart! I sent him a link and he dove right in. He loved it. He loved the layout, the photos, the writing. Redemption! He told his friends and co-workers. My stat meter was soon registering hits from his office. Shortly thereafter, he presented me with my dream camera, saying the three words I really wanted to hear:

“Love your blog.” Awww.

So, of course I asked, “How come you didn’t want to see it before?”

He told me he thought I’d been spending my hours in a chat room or message board. “I had no idea what a blog was,” he said.

Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.