A thing made of metal / On blogging
My welding teacher told me that he visited my website, but was disappointed when he discovered I had a blog that was not exactly in use. I sort of looked down, shuffled my feet, and mumbled something about how I should probably get back on that.
If you know me, you know that I used to be a somewhat prolific blogger. But I am the first to admit it is hard work, especially when other things are going on. And if you're not devoting a blog to a specific topic, it is often difficult to muster up the motivation. It's also hard to motivate yourself when your blog is devoted to something you have grown indifferent towards.
First and foremost, I am a writer. And although I've never stopped putting words into sentences for work purposes, it is only recently that I've rediscovered the joy in doing so. It dawned on me that I had stopped writing. I had stopped writing during a particularly shitty time in my life where everything seemed to go wrong. And I began to feel as if I had nothing worthwhile to say, that my vocabulary wasn't big enough, that so-and-so wrote a better Facebook status than I could have ever composed.
F**k that noise. For a long time, my identity was tied into my career as a writer. Whether blogger or copywriter, that was who I was. What did I do outside of writing? Hmmm...yoga, occasionally. Traveling whenever possible. Photography, but not with the fervor I had when I brought my SLR everywhere. I hung out with friends. Um...hobbies? Ok. So I had been lying to myself for awhile when I thought I had hobbies, mainly because I had a blog.
I was a writer, so I wrote things because that was what I was good at, that is what paid my bills. It never occurred to me that I might be good at other things if I just practiced them.
My entire life was tied into finding validation on a screen and mostly refusing to try anything I *might* fail at—or getting frustrated every time I might not get something right. I disdained everyone whom, from where I was standing, did everything right. I was a miserable c**t. I was not anyone who as fun to hang out with.
There are so many other things I want to do. Anything that makes me a better me is at the top of that list. The funny thing is that it was only through finally having the confidence to put myself out there that I was able to begin writing again.
I also used to tell myself and anyone who asked that I was incapable of writing fiction. Not anymore. (But everything you read above IS 100% true.)