I'm glad I found you again.
I've been finding myself craving things from the past - when it all seemed much simpler. When a blog was just a blog and not connected to likes or infinite scrolling feeds or ads. When I didn't try to game an algorithm or give a shit. When I wasn't worried about personal branding or appearing any which way. When the point really was just the writing, or rather, the feelings behind the words.
It reminds me of the Amy Poehler quote that has, quite frankly, haunted me since I read it in her autobiography at least 5 years ago:
"The talking about the thing isn't the thing. The doing of the thing is the thing."
During the pandemic (ongoing) I've really worked to figure out why I stopped doing the things I used to, or where all my time is going. I think like most, I have spent some time turning inwards and wondering how I got here -- not necessarily in the middle of a pandemic and potential apocalypse -- but 30 years into my life without a healthy hobby or way to escape the stress of said potential apocalypse around me that is just for me. I guess we would call it an outlet. And I remembered that I had you. And you were never much - except cringe-y from time to time - but still, you existed before things even got that heavy. And you never served to make me seem cool or perfect or build some branded business or aspirational lifestyle.
I've been toying with the idea of writing again for the past year. Maybe a newsletter, a cool-girl niche blog, a new website. And then I just get filled with an overwhelming amount of decisions to make. Because all of that is, really the talking about the thing isn't it? When really all I wanted and likely need to do is write again. And I thought about how this little blogspot likely disappeared into the ethers of the internet, but what if I could find it? There is enough of it already created that if I miraculously found it and broke back into my account, the only decision I would need to make is the one to click "new post."
It's not completely without roots. There are fragments of me already here. They're not as embarrassing as I thought they might be, and if they don't mind the company, I'd like to add more of me here again. Ten years ago "me" likely would not mind. She would probably wonder where I went for all that time and, more importantly, why I left. I think I would tell her: "I'm not quite sure, but I have a feeling that if I spend some time here, I might start to piece it together. I might come up with an answer."
A part of me loves that no one will likely find this. And a part of me wonders if someone will. Either way, I'm not upset if anyone else is out there. You are welcome to join me, but please know the cringe-factor is already running shotgun on this journey, so will need to accept that and climb in the backseat with a bag of chips for the road.
The world feels so very fragile right now. Everything is fine but it feels like it is perpetually teetering towards disaster. And we must learn to live like that. Though, I suppose we always have been. I think I'll learn to weave and bob -- to dance again through the uncertainty -- if I find a little place, a little corner of this world (both real and on the internet) to simply be. Less striving. Less planning. Less creating, even.
More being.
-A
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