the comeback

4:59 PM


I'm not entirely sure even how to begin this. I've struggled keeping this blog a thing and even writing in general for so long I'n not even sure how to go about it anymore. Is it like riding a bike? Funny thing about bikes. For me, it isn't that simple. I thought it was, however a few years ago I rented one of those 'citi bikes' in downtown Salt Lake City after a concert to try and make the train. It was more or less the only way I could avoid sleeping under a bridge that night. Well, I assumed, as the saying goes, that I could get on that thing and just pick up where I left off when I was ten. HA. It wasn't until I was actually going at a steady pace that someone in Temple Square popped out from behind a bush (they weren't supposed to be there, but to be fair, I wasn't either) and I swerved and fell. After that, I couldn't get back in the groove for the life of me. In addition to dropping my purse and almost losing my credit card (and actually losing my eyeliner), I couldn't go more than twenty feet without having to put my foot down or losing control of my handlebars and front wheel. As my two friends made it with ease, I was like a two year old trying really hard to please my parents after they removed my training wheels. Needless to say, when someone tells me "it's just like riding a bike" I'm inclined to believe I'm going to fail. Funny, because that means a whole lot more than you realize.

I'm coming off of essentially a straight year of three steps forward, two steps back. This is a personal struggle that in truth, I really haven't been honest about with anyone. I share a little with some and more than others but I keep a lot to myself and for no real reason other than I think it's weird to talk about. But then I find myself going to ridiculous lengths on google to find something to relate to. I search for hours trying to find a song or a movie or a quote that will make me go YES IT ISN'T JUST ME and often I find it and it's great and the universe understands and for a second I feel wonderful. Once the instant gratification of just finding a common bond between myself and a search engine wears off, I accept the reality of the temporary solution. It wasn't a "real" wonderful, it was fake.

Hear that? The internet is fake.

A small backstory for no reason other than to be relatable again, I used to try so hard to fit into that world, the internet world. The magical, and what I assumed as, accepting world of posting my life and activities and opinions on an online platform. I wasn't a success by all means but I used to blog, pretty eagerly, and I used to have people read it and get comments and made friends and attended conferences and occasionally got paid. I was fascinated how all of these women (especially in Utah) were able to share their lives online and people were interested and kind. They got to try awesome products and attend awesome events. I was a fan and I wanted to be one of them.

At the time this journey began, I was recently married and wanted to chronicle that. The obvious move was starting a blog. I bought a laptop (that's how prehistoric I was) and purchased a domain. I dove in. It came pretty easy at first: I'd share things about our lives and my interests. I didn't focus at all on picture size or grammar, it was just me and my voice. Over time, it developed into and I found that I was fairly good at writing about really frivolous shit like television and movies. Don't get me wrong, I have a deep passion for that frivolous shit, and its actually really important to me, but I guess some would say it was a waste of time. It really didn't matter because I loved it.

My now ex-husband used to say things like "you're trying too hard", "that isn't real", "don't try to be like them" and it would get me so mad but truth is, he was right. He'd love to hear that right now. He was. I really just wanted to be welcomed into that world of bloggers that had people care about them. Sure, I had friends, and I had a life, and it wasn't bad. It did stick with me though that I wanted to be something or someone else. I wanted that recognition, as awkward as that is to write out loud. I wanted people to care about what I had to say, what I wore or any opinion I had, even if the opinion wasn't my own. Thing is, I still am kind of like that. It sucks but there it is. Every blogging lady had Hunter wellie rain boots, so damnit I needed to have those. Photos of myself writing at a coffee shop? I did that. Here is a photo of us on our fun vacation, but what you don't see is that we fought the whole time and I got sunburned.

I stopped doing that when I got divorced and switched over to writing personal essays. I like those, but they're not really uplifting. Is there a balance somewhere?

So, back to my epiphany. I'm here after a pretty devastating 30th year in so many ways I can't even list them. I find myself back online trying to google any and everything I can think of to feel understood. Then I think...what am I missing? And the two come together. What am I missing? Writing. Who will understand me? I don't know, but I guess instead of looking for it somewhere else I can put my shit out there and maybe someone will find me?

So here I am, re-learning this and deciding I need to write. It's who I am and it's what I do. But...are blogs still a thing?

Oh, unfortunately they are.

I say it like that because I decided to go back and read things I used to read, see what the world I left behind has become. And if I may be honest here, which I can because that's kind of my point now, they kind of drive me fucking batshit.

I have nothing against this at all, that's their thing and it works and there is a market. The reality is that I don't belong in that world at all. I can't do it and it doesn't help me personally because all I can find out there is cookie making, crafting, and sponsored posts. To be fair, then there is the opposite end of things where I find satirical people talking about how great it is to drink wine all of the time and forever alone and I hate people and anxiety is a thing! I can't do that either.

I had a conversation recently about wanting to venture back out there but I was obsessed with finding a niche. I couldn't just write, I had to pick a topic or a genre and go with that. Fashion blogger, food blogger, pop-culture vulture (oh wait, I did that). And then I was told why? Why do I have to have one thing. Why the fuck can't I just write about whatever I want to write about?

So, here is to a melting pot of a new beginning.

I won't have pretty, edited photos. They'll be taken with my iPhone. Sure, I'll post outfits on a day I'm particularly proud of them (which is most days, I make a lot of effort for fashion because fuck it, I love it), I'll post things I cook because I fucking love to cook, I'll talk about my dog, or my friends (meal ticket!), or a song, or book I like. Some days I'll rant, some days I'll be funny. Clearly I have an affinity for the "f" word, so disclaimer, that will be said frequently, but in context. I just want to be real. I won't necessarily use punctuation the correct way. I may use words I make up. I may decide on a structure or a few themed posts for continuity and fluidity and I'll use words like continuity and fluidity to make myself sound a lot fancier than I am. I'll talk about how I hoard a specific kind of granola, or how I think I've perfected the perfect french capsule wardrobe with really high end, quality pieces, none of which I paid full price for and some I got on consignment. Maybe you'll care about that or maybe you won't. I don't know, but in truth this is mostly for me. If I need something to relate to, I'll write it. It gives me purpose after going way too long not finding that in myself.

This has dragged clearly so I'm proving one of my points by saying I don't care if things drag or if I ramble because it's going to happen. So for now I can guarantee one thing, a promise to myself. Consistency. Whatever that means.


You Might Also Like

0 speaks

sup fool.