I used to blog in my angtsy 20s, when I was testing out adult life and my own role in it. That first period after graduate school when I embarked on my journey into real life was largely about deciding I was a set of somethings and trying each one on. You think you are a performer? A visionary? A thinker of thoughts and possessor of talents destined to change this world? Put on a skirtsuit and push your mail cart through a sea of new-money associates while wearing those identities. You'll find out quickly how well you stick to your aspirational guns.
Life's tests helped me get to know the corners of myself, and the blog faded away out of a lack of necessity. The world of late has felt shocking and unfamiliar, like its threads are unraveling, and I don't recognize what I'm looking at anymore. Hatred being unleashed at people these days is like a cancer that's been metastasizing throughout the body politic, and it's just finally shown up on our scans. In reaction, I find myself becoming reacquainted with my younger self's need to define what my role will be.
With the recent election and the polarizing effect social media has had on our society, my online world these past months has been sadly devoid of cat photos and instead feels like it's launching negativity missiles at me. I've retreated to blogging to give me a safe place to ponder this new reality in more characters than are kosher in a Facebook post, and yes, to post occasional pictures and stories of cats, of the food we grow, of the places we go, and of the difficulties of renovating one's own kitchen.
I'm back where I started, with the keyboard clacking as I try to make sense of it all. This time I know more about who I am, and it's the world around me that feels like a stranger. Whether you're a quiet lurker, an involved commenter, or a friend from near or far, I welcome you to join me here for some thoughtfulness.
"I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again."
—Anne Frank
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