Or, as alternatively titled: On coming to terms with the fact that I’m technically a “retired” blogger.
I used to be a writer.
Or, well perhaps more appropriately, I used to feel like I was a writer. I would write such a wide variety of things – stupid, funny, stupidly funny, cutesy romantic, achingly raw and honest… and I would put them on display for other people to read. Mostly in the time of LiveJournal and early blogging. I found an audience, mostly in the form of a game, and I was inspired, happy and creative. I wrote for the audience, and the feedback was fairly instantaneous and I loved every second of it.
Then something happened that devastated that world for me – my journal ended up suspended. While I was able to get most of my writings back… I lost the interactions that I cherished, and most of the community. While it wasn’t my fault it felt like it was for the longest of times. And I had a really hard time with it. It took a long time to lose the last piece of the community, and it was just as raw and devastating as the first time it happened. A piece of me perished with it.
I’ve still tried to work on writing. I’ve done some NaNoWriMo’s – some more successful than others. I’ve elaborated on the complicated and extremely detailed dreams that I have. I’ve even taken an Expressive Writing class that I aced. I was seriously proud of that – it’s not often that I’ll see a 100 on anything class/learning related.
I have had a great amount of events in my life to write about, both positive and negative, big and small.
I had a great experience in January in Dallas, with meeting Marianas Trench twice (three times? Technically….) in one day. I did a weekendish of 3 more Marianas Trench trips around home. I’ve had disasters at work that it’s likely best I didn’t talk about anyway. What about my trips to Cuba with people I’d never met. Or attending a wedding in Honduras? Or I’ve got one of those bucket-list trips – an Alaskan Cruise – coming up shortly*. I’ve got a list of 101 things in 1001 days I’m working on. Or my apartment where I’ve been making great strides at tackling my hording or not. Or my parents. Or the fact that I now regularly attend yoga with a great group of girls. With dating attempts with this one guy who thought he’d be brutally honest and say that the reason I don’t date much/get asked out a lot is because I’m ugly but that doesn’t bother him, who went full on obsessed I’m-going-to-marry-you never mind that we hadn’t met… Now there’s a story and a half on its own.
And I haven’t written them.
Mind you. Now I have a list of topics to write about?
Part of it, admittedly, is laziness. I don’t find the time to do it even though the time is still there. I find other useless things to do. Like browse Buzzfeed for 2 hours. Or watch a movie I’ve seen likely 6 times. find twitter helpful – the 150 characters aren’t a lot but it’s a fun challenge to be creative within them. And at least I document things that way.
I’d be lying, though, if I said I didn’t miss it. I do. I miss spilling my thoughts and feelings onto this virtual paper.
A musician on twitter (who I’d like to be friends with – he’s just a sweet guy who gives me random bits of attention) recently finished a tour where he did a vlog. He posted a question to his followers that asked if he should continue vlogging. My response was simple, but it triggered this, so I guess it wasn’t really.
Maybe I haven’t really retired. Maybe I’ve just been in a period of silence.
I guess we’ll find out.
*note. By time I get off my ass and actually post this the cruise’ll likely be over. But hey, what else is new?