Quiet.
Quietly.
That’s how you’d prefer to come back.
You’ve said it before but you think it’s easier to start a new blog than to pick up with an old, sort of dusty one.
Maybe because there’s too much history? An unspoken expectation?
Or maybe… maybe you’re in a different stage, a different phase. And you want to try some new things but you don’t want all eyes on you.
The benefit of being a beginner or a novice is that there are no expectations.
There’s freedom in being a beginner. You can take bigger risks; you might not even know they are risks.
You can be a little reckless; you might not even know you’re being reckless.
But after you’ve established a rhythm… and then the beat changes… how do you respond?
You might feel awkward and like a beginner again, stumbling to find your groove.
And let’s be honest: you’d rather practice your sweet new moves in the comfort of your own home before busting them out on the dance floor in front of a roaring crowd.
Also: you may take metaphors a little too far.
* * *
In the past, when I’ve seen blogs neglected, I’ve always wondered if people just forgot about them.
I can’t speak for other people — or even other blogs I’ve had in the past — but I think about this one on a near daily basis. It’s not forgotten.
This blog has been so important to me — maybe more so than any of the others.
At first, it started as a place that held my hope of going abroad and then it was a place that (partially) documented one of the best years of my life in France.
And then it was the place where I tried to figure out how to move on from that year. Where I tried to figure out how to be an “adult.”
Because, you know, there are certain societal markers that signify being a grown-up… and at the time, I felt like nothing I was doing was checking off any of the boxes on that list.
And so, I decided to be a little more conventional. Traditional. Follow a more well-trodden path.
I wanted security. I wanted stability. And I wanted to live up to this image of myself I had created in my mind.
Instead of just being, I pressured myself to be who I thought people expected and wanted me to be.
But that didn’t last long and it wasn’t very satisfying.
In that spirit, I made the decision to go to grad school and entered a program that I realized was wrong for me pretty quickly. But instead of seeing the program as wrong, I took it to mean that I was.
I just didn’t fit (talk about square peg in a round hole syndrome) and the things I valued about myself seemed kind of worthless there.
It was… difficult, to say the very least.
Should I stay? Should I go? Those questions plagued every moment of my day.
I desperately wanted to flee. But… going to grad school meant I put all of my eggs into one small basket — a basket that I thought promised me a secure and stable future. The problem was: once I got to school, I realized it wasn’t a future that I wanted.
Now, I’m going to gloss over the immense amount of guilt I had about a lot of things (but mostly about complaining about the opportunity — and privilege — of going to grad school).
And I’m also going to gloss over the story of how I eventually transferred into a different program at the same university.
Let me just get on with how that experience relates to this blog…
Well, during that time of inner turmoil, this blog became a refuge from my “adult” decision to go to grad school.
It’s so funny; I started this blog to document my escape abroad and then it became the escape. The symbol became THE THING. Full circle, huh? *Plays The Lion King soundtrack.*
Anyway.
In retrospect, I can see that this blog has been more about going through different stages of my life than about any sort of “niche” (and yes, that includes the travel one).
During some stages, I’ve been more open and more vocal. During others, I have been quieter and processed on my own.
Which can be difficult if you have a blog.
Blogging as a medium is still fairly new but if you want your blog to be anything… if you want your blog to “matter”… there’s this feeling that you always need to be talking. Creating. Saying something to keep people’s attention lest you become irrelevant. Insignificant.
But the thing is… sometimes there’s a time to speak and sometimes there’s a time to be quiet.
A time to share and a time to withhold.
There are some things you learn through processing them, talking them through, and keeping them right in front of your face.
Then there are different lessons you learn by taking a step back, gaining perspective, and doing things differently.
I haven’t ever forgotten about this space. But I did need space from it.
I finished grad school and —
I’m going to let you know something. I typed that sentence and then I started crying. An incredible amount of emotion washed over me.
Because… I finished grad school and it’s taken me these seven and a half months since to process it.
You know, I pushed myself really hard to finish and while I didn’t really find it much of an accomplishment at the time, I look back in amazement. How did I do it in just a few weeks after being in the hospital? And more than that, how did I do it at all?
From the moment I started grad school, the odds felt like they were against me and I wanted to quit nearly everyday. And somehow, I finished. I graduated. I now have a master’s degree.
It means more to me now than it did when my mom handed me the mail back in January and had me open up my diploma.
She and Tyler stood there, smiling at me with anticipation.
At the time, I tore open the fancy priority-mail envelope, sort of shrugged and faked a smile. Because I didn’t care.
It’s not that it meant nothing, but it symbolized nearly three years of my life that felt like such an inner battle.
I didn’t even want to look at it. And to be honest, now that I am writing this, I realize I haven’t looked at it since.
So yeah. Maybe I am still working on that “processing it” thing.
But I can say this: I am proud of it. I am proud of me. (Cue the crying again.)
But let’s be real: I burnt myself out on writing. Besides journaling, the thought of writing made me feel ill. I had no desire to do it. I am no stranger to burn-out but I had never experienced it like that before.
There I was, qualified to be a professional writer and yet I wanted nothing to do with it. And for a long while, it seemed like I never would again.
Which makes what I say next an unexpected turn of events…
I’m writing a book.
To be honest, I didn’t think I would reveal it yet and I definitely didn’t start writing this post with it in mind.
I myself am sort of surprised because it’s fiction. I haven’t written fiction since high school, really. And I primarily read non-fiction. And my degree is in journalism.*
But I got an idea some months ago… sort of let it go for a while… and then I began working on it.
I eased into it. I did not want to burn myself out the way I had so many times before. I wanted to enjoy the process. And for the most part, I have.
But back to how it relates to this blog: I haven’t forgotten about it. This place.
In fact, I have been writing a few posts here and there about the book but I just haven’t published them. (Until now.)
But I am starting to see how my blogging pattern works. I write when I’m going through an experience. An experience that feels unique to me. An experience that maybe has a finish line or a fixed ending.
Of course, life is still going on in-between those moments. I have things I could have written about these past several months — there have been trips and visits and weddings and such — but I realize I like blogging about a theme… about something that fits under some sort of umbrella that connects all these experiences I’m having.
And that thing now is: the book.
I’m scared of course. Scared that I will put pressure on myself and end up abandoning it because it’s no longer fun. Scared that it will be boring or not any good. Scared that I may try to use it to define me or to prove something. Like my worth?
I’ve learned that it’s not good enough motivation to do things just to prove something. And it’s just not good, period. For me, anyway. I’ve found that it’s best for me to just do things for fun and enjoyment. Everything else is a byproduct.
I’m scared that by sharing this, my energy will flow more towards talking about the book rather than writing it. That’s so easy to do with blogging. It’s a lot easier to write about what it’s like to (attempt to) write a book than it is to write one.
Anyway, that’s why I’d rather come back quietly. I’d rather whisper into the ether that I’m writing a book than yell it off of mountaintops. Because I’m trying something new. And I’m pretty sure that I am moving into a different phase of my life.
I think maybe I’m ready to start writing here regularly again but I do feel rusty. I feel like my voice has changed a little. Has it? I’m not sure — I’m so used to the sound of my own thoughts that it’s hard to tell. But if it has, that’s okay. And if it hasn’t, well, that’s okay too.
So… maybe I’m back. But maybe not. I mean, anyone who has ever traveled knows that you can return but you never come back the same. So I’m back but I’m not the same. There are no promises. And there definitely aren’t any apologies.
But I can say: it has felt so good to write this out. Blogging is different from journaling. And you know… I think I’ve missed it.
*For the record: journalism is not the degree that I initially wanted that I thought was stable and safe. Against all logic, I found myself gravitating towards it and ended up transferring into the program. It definitely was a better fit but did not have the “guaranteed” fairy-tale bank account that I initially went to grad school for.