After years of reading several successful blogs on anything from daily dramatic rants about being a girl in the modern world to reading travel blogs documenting every free spirit’s dream travel itineraries, plus watching some of my good friends start their own blogs and seeing them flourish so rapidly, I finally became brave enough to start my own blog. I had a live journal once, ranting about my frustrations with customers at lower wage jobs that barely paid my bills. Sometimes I got political, shouting feminism with every word on the screen. But mostly, I just wanted to find strangers I didn’t know and had never seen before and have them read my blog and say to themselves ” I totally relate to that”. But I rarely got that connection because as a writer during my high school and early college years non-fiction was not my strong suit. I was always afraid of sounding stupid, bitchy, or just plain boring. I thought I might hurt people’s feelings. Being too honest was terrifying.
But an intelligent professor of mine in my last year of undergrad broke me of that habit. He taught my class (of a whole wopping nine people) that there is no style of writing that anyone has to learn or adapt their own style to, that our style was our style. and that was that. Then he would invite us to go out to his apartment or to a local restaurant, open a bottle of wine or we’d order beers, and made us sit in a circle and read our pieces aloud to each other. This still made me cringe. But it was just what I needed in my last semester of undergrad. Because writing for me was constant and openly accepted when I went on to study performance studies in graduate school. For some reason writing seemed to become more theraputic. It was a safe environment, yes, because we all were writing and performing, but I also had some of the most brilliant classmates and professors in the country sitting next to me. It was liberating. It is something I’ve missed the past few years. Life got busy, I moved from Michigan to Wisconsin. Life got busier. I planned a wedding. Got married. MOVED AGAIN (Ugh I hate moving). and in all of that time, I wrote in my journal, but only dreamed of writing a blog.
At first I didn’t know what to write about. Then I felt inspired to write a backyard tourism blog. I craved adventure. Then, finally, I decided that I was going to do a whatever-the-hell-I’m-experiencing blog. Already, as part of preparing to start this blog, just the idea of having it inspired me to get out more, sometimes with friends, sometimes with just myself.
Mostly, this blog is an expression of love to my husband, Jeff, and all of my friends and family with whom I share a lot of glorious adventures. Full of colorful language and quirkiness. Honest.
Shall we begin?