First blog posts are the worst. They are set up to be cheesy, can lack familiarity, and are usually not an author’s best work. A blog has to be built to be good and an author has to allow themselves time to get into a rhythm. It’s a very wax on, wax off process. But still, the anticipation of either falling on your face or doing well enough to not embarrass yourself is real. And after it’s done, you get to wonder if anyone will even care. (But that’s a whole other blog post – stay tuned to examine your subconscious level of self-worth.)
Traditionally, a first blog post is supposed to tell your readers who you are and what they signed up for. Right now, all y’all are probably getting from this is that I am a perfectionist who doesn’t like to try new things. Both of which are true to a degree. The reason I’m telling you all of this is because this is actually my fourth or fifth go at starting a blog and I’ve never been able to get into it because of my fear of the first try.
The first time I tried to start a blog I was nine. On top of having undiagnosed ADHD that kept me from committing to any hobby for more than an hour, my idea of a good story was how I took apart and put a pen back together, so I can give myself a break.
The second time was when I was 17. It was during the thick of my Tumblr days. I could pull content from that blog as it is one of my most consistent works, but no one needs to know why I was concerned that Harry Styles was going to have a heart attack from eating too many bananas (I wish that were a euphemism).
I started the other blogs in college when I was living like a feral, nocturnal seventh grader with the emotional intelligence of a grapefruit whose parents forgot to give them the talk about everything, so they fainted when that movie was shown in health class. It was all drama and no logic.
Three years later, here I am ready to try again with the ability to not faint at the sight of illegal substances and/or sexual activity. Life is more stable, and I feel more in control. I have a bit more confidence now. I have to remind myself I have it each day, but I have it. And having my own apartment in Chicago that I pay for with my own money because I have a job in marketing that was not my first choice because I have a degree in journalism and media relations but a talking Cheeto, a virus, and the ongoing evolution of technology took away my chances of becoming a journalist leaves me feeling utterly 27 years old (scared shitless yet content) and compelled to write because I’m young and fun and have shit to say.
Sidenote – I never, ever say the word “shit” unless I have dropped something literally, figuratively, or symbolically. I don’t have a problem with the word, I just don’t know what is happening here with that last sentence. Maybe I’m trying to act cool so you guys will like me. Is it working? Oh, I can only imagine what my therapist would say right now. - Please note, I’m not that fucked up. Just a little and in the best ways according to me.
Anyway, this time around will be different. There are a lot of “first tries” on the horizon and I plan to share them as they come along. Writing has always been a way for me to feel most like myself but in the past it made me feel alone. Now it’s making me feel very open and unified with other human beings. I hope this blog can become a safe place where honesty, understanding, and individuality are supported and celebrated. As my manager tells me almost daily, we’re all just trying our best. So please, join me as I document my observations of life and tell stories about how I went somewhere to do one thing but something else happened (foreshadowing is a writer trick right?). It’s gonna be great.
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