Life, Writing

In This Together.

There’s something that I’ve learned about bloggers over the years:

We’re all a little insecure.

We want to be authentic, but we’re afraid of opening ourselves up because we’re afraid that someone’s going to take a stake to our heart.

We stop writing because we’re afraid that our writing is not good enough and then come groveling back because we can’t stand not writing anymore.

We try to rationalize our feelings, swinging from one branch of feeling to another, as if we need to justify to others why we aren’t writing. Or painting. Or creating in some way or another.

We go from writing too much, to not writing at all. And yet we still write.

We still write because we want to be heard. We want someone to tell us that we’re alright.

And we are alright. We are still here, you and I.

We are here together.

If you need to take a break, I’ll still be there. I didn’t come this far with you just to come this far. I will still read your writing even if you need some time off to focus on yourself. Because God knows we all need to boost our morale.

It’s okay.

It’s okay to be uncertain. It’s okay to feel the way you’re feeling. I’ll waiting for you, for that next post. I followed you because you write quality, not quantity. You find the words to describe how I’m feeling in just a way.

I feel the insecurity. I’ll write and write and write. And then I’ll stop because I’m feeling insecure. I’ll then write and write and write about how insecure I’m feeling about my writing and obsess over why I’m not as good as any others. People actually have things to write about, I say, and then pull back. They travel, they cook, they get involved with their communities.

I just live an average life.

An ordinary life, you would say.

I wanted to show that living an ordinary life could be extraordinary. You didn’t need to travel extensively or cook fancy meals every day or be especially literary with fancy words. I wanted to show that a small, normal, ordinary life could be just as worthy as any other blogger, writer, x successful person.

And yet I got sucked into the belief that I need to be something in order to write about it. I needed to do things, be extraordinary. And yet–

And yet that was tiring.

It was boring. I’m not that sort of person to put myself out there underneath the spotlight all the time.

I am quiet. I can be weird around people that I most want to talk to. I get awkward. I’m by no means as confident as I make myself out to be.

And yet here I am…still writing. And people are still following.

Thank you.

Thank you for following me. And if you write a blog, thank you for writing. We’ll find our footing. We’ll get to the other side.

We’re in this together.

This is partially inspired by Chris Nicholas’ post “Epoch” which you can read here if you’re so inclined. Give him some love, he deserves it, I’ve never met a bad piece of writing from him.


A Broken Love Story.

“So, Ian — welcome to the graveyard of ambition!”
~David Nicholls, “One Day”

I like a good love story like the rest of them. But unlike the rest of them, I tend to fall in love with the stories that don’t end so happily. One of the main characters dies at the end, or another unavoidable circumstance irrevocably pushes them apart forever. It’s not that I don’t hope for a happily ever after, it’s because it seems to reflect real life so much more than an actual happily ever after.

When I was 19, I had hoped that college would be the defining moment for me in my life. It was, but not how I expected.

You see, I never dated in high school. I was never taken out on a date or asked out to prom or homecoming. I was one of those people in the middle: not quite popular but not quite at the bottom of the cesspool. I was just that average girl that everybody liked but nobody thought about. When it came time for college, I was excited at the prospect of meeting new people: new friends, new mix of guys who might like me enough to take me out on a date.

It didn’t happen.

Well. Kind of. There were a couple of guys interested enough to spend some time with me. Very brief, nothing lasting. Every time I hoped that this time would be different, it wasn’t. They just wanted a couple dates or someone to flirt with.

I decided that the effort was too much and decided to focus on studying instead. It was hard, I don’t think I succeeded in forgetting about dating.

Time passes and feelings change. I’ve come to realize that you don’t always get what you want. What you set out to do changes into a series of disappointments.

I’m not writing this because I want people to feel sorry for me. Nor do I want people to comment with consolation, trying to lift my hopes for a love that’s everlasting. Because sometimes that sort of thing never happens.

I still ache, but I am happy. I am alone; it has become entwined with me. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if that ever change. I’d probably have a panic attack. I’m too used to having the bed to myself, falling asleep listening to YouTube, and spending the day in my jamis if I want to. Having a boyfriend would mean I’d have go out and do stuff and that’s just…not me anymore, somehow. At least, that’s what I like to tell myself. I’ll still roll with it.



Knowing how to read, but choosing not to.

I don’t read as much as I used to. In fact, this has been a trend in the last seven years or so. I have come to the realization that pushing myself through books when I don’t want to is really silly and rather dumb. So I’ve just stopped doing it.

In the beginning, I still read a lot, but in the last couple of years not so much. Only five years ago I read fifty to seventy books; now, I’m lucky if I make it to thirty.

That’s okay.

In fact, it’s more than okay.

In a world where education and literacy is more important than ever, it takes a lot of strength to say “I don’t want to read that right now.”

This is the problem with most things:

We push people so much on the importance of reading, of exercise, of art and science and belief, that we’re doing the exact opposite of what we want people to do. We are pushing them away from things.

I think we go through cycles in our lives where certain passions in our lives become less than as others emerge (or re-emerge in some cases.) What once became the center focus of our passions take the back seat while new ones become what we want to spend our energy on.

If I come back to reading in full force, then that’s okay. If I don’t, that’s okay too. Making me feel guilty for not reading more often will only make me resist doing so even more.

Life, Writing

What Do You Like About Your Town?

I have a board on Pinterest exclusively for journal prompts. I do this because I don’t always know what to say and I need a little help boosting myself in the right direction. I had stuff I wanted to say today but I decided to take a look at what the June 15th prompt was, which is as follows:

List things that you like about your town.

My immediate thought was, “There’s nothing I like about my town.” And truly when you look at it on the surface, there isn’t a whole lot to like about it. It’s suburban neighborhood after suburban neighborhood. There are grocery stores and gas stations and lawyer offices. And surprisingly, we have a hospital, though it’s a little country hospital that’s been on its way out for several years now.

There’s just nothing here.

We don’t have anything trendy. No movie theatre. No fancy pub.


But there are little things that I like that only a person who has lived here for many years can appreciate.

For example, there is a little patch of woods near my house that I like going to sometimes. It abuts a golf course, but once you get into the trees and meadow there, you forget that you’re in the middle of suburbia. I feel like I can get lost in there and let out my emotions, let them ebb out of them. But because of that, I’m a little bit superstitious. Every time I’ve brought a guy there, it hasn’t worked out. Strange.

I like seeing an old house on my way home from being around town, it’s been there since the Civil War, and has been featured in a ghost book of the state. I like the bike paths that I can take my walks on. I like that the town isn’t full of highways continually crowded. I like having a quiet life (usually.)

I won’t discuss what I don’t like here because that’s too much information that I’m not willing to talk about. But sometimes we focus on the negative so much that we forget that even the worst places have happy spots.


The Shallow Reasons for a Relationship

I’m jealous of those who are dating or married. But I’m jealous for the shallow reasons that only a single person could be jealous of.

Things to be jealous of in a relationship:

  • Never lonely.
  • Have someone to watch t.v./movies/YouTube with.
  • Have company in the same room even if you’re doing different things
  • Have someone to wake up to
  • Have someone to hold you
  • Have someone to go out and do things with

Of course you should be in a relationship for more than the superficial reasons. But I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been in one in all the time I’ve been on earth. I’ve been told I’m not missing much, that there’s great things in being single. I know there’s great things to being single; I exhort them daily. I’m grateful. But some have been with their lover for so long that they forget what it’s like to be single. They forget that loneliness can wrap around you, hug you tight and not let go until you’re driven mad with desire. Believe me, it makes you want to go to the first person who pays the slightest attention to you. But don’t. It’s not worth it. Especially if the guy’s a butthole.

It’s been a long time since I’ve last been with someone I thought would turn into something more. And therein lies my problem. It takes me a long time to get over my love interests that almost were, but when there’s been enough time lapse, I’m feeling the tug of loneliness even when I’m certain I don’t want to. It’s a strange feeling to have.

Being single is okay. So is being in a relationship. So is being shallow. But let’s not downplay or exhort each other’s situations.


If you insist.

I don’t know where I was going with this, other than the fact that shallowness is indeed a feeling at times.


What Makes You Happy

Everybody has an idea about what makes them happy. And those ideas are completely valid and completely okay. The problem is that we get wrapped up in what other people think is happy and then we get lost. We become unhappy.

What makes other people happy doesn’t necessarily mean it’ll make you happy. Does it make you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside? Do you get excited at the thought of participating in this activity? Do you feel fulfilled at the end?

If you don’t, then why are you doing it? Are you doing it because you think other people think you should be doing it? Do you do it because you think you should be enjoying it? But why do it if you’re not even happy about it, you know?

I get it, sometimes duty and necessity gets in the way of happiness and sometimes you need to do what’s necessary in order to gain security. But should it permeate throughout your life until it discolors even the few moments doing what DOES make you happy?

I read a tweet on Twitter and it said to the effect that we’re so busy pursuing happiness, that we become unhappy. I’ve never read a truer statement.

If we’re constantly on the road trying to find happiness, we become unhappy because we’re always chasing it and not catching it. Instead of always running, we should stop and let it catch us. See the sunshine. Smell the roses. Smile at the stranger with the little baby gurgling. Isn’t lovely? Isn’t it great?

Whatever makes you stop and enjoy the moment, that’s what you should be doing. It doesn’t matter if other people think you should be doing it for happiness, it’s what YOU think that matters.


The Insecurities of Love

We were walking around the mall holding hands. In a store front window was a dress. I don’t remember what it looked like, but it reminded me of something from the 50’s.

“Do you think I’d look pretty in that?” I asked.

He stopped and looked at me intently. “I think you’d look beautiful.” He paused. “You don’t think you’ll get married do you?”

I didn’t say anything, but I agreed with him. I didn’t think I was ever going to get married.

He squeezed my hand. “I think you’ll get married one day and you’ll be the most beautiful woman in that dress.”

I smiled and we continued walking.

Not long after that, he stopped talking to me and I never saw him again. Sometimes promises are broken and words are merely words that people say to make you feel better in the moment. They feel good, but it hurts worse when they leave.

I’m still single and I probably always will. I’m happy with this generally, but sometimes I get a nagging insecurity well up within me on occasion; that I’m one of those people that others aren’t interested in romantically. Sure I’ve been told I’m pretty and that I’m sweet, but not long enough for me to get the sense that I’m a worthy component to receive attention.

I’ve expressed this feeling to my friends but I think they tire of me quickly. They’re already in love, so why should it matter about the faults and struggles of others?

I’m kind of nervous about sharing this but I’m going to be brave and share it anyway. Perhaps others feel the same way and I never even knew.