Thanks for stopping by,
This blog has no goals. No ambitions. No purpose. No audience. And fuck you if you're reading this.
Sorry, that came out harsh. It’s just that I've spent my entire life as inveterate people pleaser and by the time you’re in your 40s, you realize what a complete fucking racket that is. Having the realization doesn’t mean you can stop trying to please others — especially when you work in an industry predicated on subjective assessment by gatekeepers looking for any excuse to say no.
Also, it’s not so easy to upend an entire identity built upon being a perfectionist middle child who has grown up as a human woman on planet Earth.
But MAYBE I can carve out one place where I’m not writing for your approval. Everywhere else is for you, okay? Except here. I only try to please myself on this postage-stamp plot of land in the wilderness!
So why not just keep a journal? Or read your dumb little storie to your pet turtle then burn them in a garbage fire down by the river? Why write a PUBLIC BLOG if you don’t want people to read it?
Therein lies the rub, friends.
Where’s the guts in reading aloud to Mr. Figs? He doesn’t know if I’m being authentic or bullshit. He just wants more mustard greens. The only way to test myself — to run an actual experiment — is to write in a place where other people could see what I put down and perhaps HATE IT… and for me to be okay with it. Or okay enough to just keep writing in a way that rings some bell inside that says — that feels good and juicy and real. And that’s enough.
I want to give up being clever. Abandon “impressive.” Banish all the fucking gatekeepers. And just share where my heart is at. Put down some funny, hard, beautiful, messy things. That’s my only chance to connect with you, anyway.
