There are a lot of things about myself I’m embarrassed by. Let’s start with that. I honestly like videos of people lip syncing. One Direction haunts my ‘most played’ on Spotify- unironically. In 2012 I was a cringey over-saturated instagram obsessed starbucks wielding tumblr girl. I had vibrant tie-dye phone backgrounds saying “I’m not crazy, I’m just random”. My laugh sounds like a dying hyena. As part of growing up, I’ve put a lot of effort into training myself out of those characteristics I learned were wrong or embarrassing. Because of that, I’ve taught myself to constantly be straying away from being ‘cringey.’
So, you can imagine how ashamed I was when I started wanting to write a blog.
Now, please understand this is not a pity party, but an explanation as to why I feel like I need to make explanations in the first place. And most importantly, understand that I write a lot. I write in journals and poetry books and agendas and napkins and in my notes on my phone. Floating somewhere in the world is a poem scribbled on the back of a McDonald’s receipt about how wonderful my cashier was that day.
I write. all. the. time.
I want a place to consolidate these random word combinations, a place open to public opinion if I choose it to be. Right now I write, but I don’t edit or re-read, and to me that’s not fully writing. To motivate myself to edit and perfect, I need to be publishing what I create. But of course, my recent thoughts have been “what will people think?” I’m not a Christian Teen Mom or Indy Blue or a leading voice in a specific movement. I’m not too popular, and I don’t have anything particularly moving or poignant to say. So how can I have a blog without it being cringey, without being judged?
What do I even have to offer?
Well, I have streams of consciousness about the view from an airplane window. I have poems about the bad taste you get in your mouth when you lie in bed all day, I have strings of words that sound nice but don’t even make sense to me. But if I don’t do something, my notes will stay notes. Napkins will end in the trash, and I’ll have a different kind of bad taste in my mouth. So, welcome to whatever this is. Welcome to my poems and thoughts and songs and wishy-washy daydreams. Come on in, make yourself at home. I haven’t yet, but maybe we’ll get there at the same time.