I started blogging a couple of years ago because I felt passionately about a particular topic – rejuvenation of the democratic left – and felt I had something useful to say.

But, as a blogger, my greatest handicap was my life’s work as a lecturer. I’ve come to realize that, to succeed, I need to spurn the lectern or at least learn to dance with it.

Over several decades, I have become accustomed to standing behind the lectern. From this position, the #professor, having done his homework, aspires to sound authoritative, impersonally assess arcane theories and concepts, acknowledge intellectual debts, and draw analytical conclusions. There is nothing wrong with this approach in the university setting, provided your audience has a chance to respond with challenges and questions. But sometimes you fall into the stance of talking at your audience, rather than to it. You are, or you feel you are, the authority.

This stance does not work in blogging. You have a limit of 1,000 words to entice a prospective reader to read on, identify an important topic, and make your case in such an arresting manner that no other conclusion than yours seems viable. You have to try to establish a personal relationship with readers throughout the world, be witty, provocative or both, and above all avoid bullshit. I think the last element is most central. We are all exposed to so much bullshit. It comes in many forms: people surreptitiously trying to sell you something (other than an idea, of course), people being pretentious, people puffing themselves up, people pandering, people making false claims. Dancing with your lectern is thus a letting go – of all pretensions, hidden motives and self-glorification – in order to engage, playfully if possible and honestly always, with individuals who may wish to go where you are heading.

Blogging is thus liberating. Forget the inflated ego! Realize that we are all wallowing to some extent, trying to find our way. Engage on that basis. And, above all, have fun. The primary reason for blogging is the sheer joy of engagement – with your passions and with distant others who you will never meet. That is enough.

So I am learning to dance with my lectern and, one fine day , I may dance away from my lectern for good.

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