It’s been so long I don’t even know how to work WordPress anymore. After taking a long Hiatus from writing I’m sitting here putting my fingers to the keyboard for the first time in a long long time faced with the question of why. Why did I stop doing this for so long? Did I just get too busy? Did I think that I wasn’t good enough? Maybe I just got self conscious that no one was reading them or that the people who were reading them didn’t like them? As I toss these questions around in my mind, I’m having trouble coming to a conclusion. I went back and took a look at the last entry I made (back in July might I add) and I even wrote in the intro that this was a half-assed blog post done only so that I could say that I kept my New Years Resolution of writing every month. How sad. I was already checked out at that point. Sure I posted something and technically stayed true to my goal for the year but the heart and intention behind it was missing. What was I trying to prove and who to? Myself?
Here’s the thing. I tend to be offput by things that everyone else is doing. Why I stopped keeping up with my blog is the same reason why I *still* haven’t listened to that new Ariana song. And at this point, I am actively AVOIDING ‘thank u, next.’ Like it was playing in the background of someone’s Instagram story and I quickly exited out of the app. It’s ridiculous, really. But it’s the truth. So when I scroll through Instagram stories and everyone is like “Swipe up to read my blog post on how I scrubbed weird shit off my tongue this morning!!!” Or “Link is in my bio for a video of my burping the alphabet!!” I started thinking why the HELL are we so preoccupied with other peoples’ lives?! And that’s when I realized my intention for writing wasn’t what it used to be. It didn’t feel good anymore.
I live in LA. Where nearly everyone is seeking notoriety, validation or in some way or another, fame. The same things that drive me absolutely bananas about LA are the same reasons why I moved here. To be selfish. To ~explore myself~. To follow my dreams. Somewhere between writing about whatever I wanted and writing what I thought everyone else wanted to hear is where I lost the part of writing that’s always been so therapeutic to me. I swear to you (and if you know me you know this is true) I am so much better at just letting my hands do the talking (wink wink that sounded a lot more sexual that I intended). All joking aside though. I sometimes struggle to get myself to say what I mean for fear of the person on the other end of the conversation misunderstanding or passing some sort of judgement, but when I just sit down, turn my brain off and let my fingers type or hand write – boom. There it is.
So, I’m not coming back here to make some sort of goal to write weekly, or even monthly. But what I am here to do is start writing more. Not because I’m trying to become some sort of blogger, or because I think you give a shit about my morning routine or which farmers market I frequent, but because I freaking love to write. And I like to write in the style that I do, about the topics that come to my head whether they fit into some sort of niche or not. Because it makes me feel good to communicate in a way that doesn’t involve me overthinking. Quite honestly, writing is pretty much the only thing I do in my life that allows me to overcome my chronic overthinking. Not even dance gives me that sort of freedom- which is crazy for me to even process. Why the f would I ever let what everyone else is doing or thinking take that freedom away from me?