People like to say blogging is like riding a bicycle. That it all comes back to you once you get back on and try again.
Well, I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was 12. And I never got that good at it. Last time I tried - about three years ago - I ran into a ten year old trying to share the sidewalk with me.
Basically, that analogy is supposed to tell you that I find both of them kind of difficult. I blogged less and now I'm on the train of not at all. I wondered why I bothered, and then I remembered why I liked it. But as I opened the laptop and stared at the screen, I was repeatedly crippled by one thought:
Who cares where I've been eating or what I've been reading or what I thought of the Parks and Rec finale? Who cares that I just can't get into the This American Life podcast, try as I might, or that Easter candy is my favorite candy season? I mean, I can tell myself that I'm a special snowflake all I want, but I can be as basic bitch as everyone else.
(I mean, seriously. My entire house is Target and I'm not even a little ashamed.)
But I thought back about my high school era blogs and how I loved when my friends posted that they were bored. I got it, because I was bored with nothing better to do than post in my livejournal, too. I liked sharing that feeling with them. And my college self, who loved when my friends posted myspace blogs with over 100 questions. We're both right handed and love pizza and are wearing pajama pants (pre yoga pants, I know. I'm old.). Or now, as an adult - seeing that there are other women making life work in their own way. I like to see how they spent their weekends or the ridiculous fights they had with their husbands or the scary thing they're going through and how they're handling it.
I forgot that I've always been in it for the slice of life.
I've dropped a ton of blogs from my reader. They don't tell me real life anymore - they tell me about perfect, aspirational lives. And that's great, but it isn't me. My house is about as far from a Pinterest project as you can get. In the words of Amy Poehler "Good for her! Not for me." Perfection, or the appearance of it, just aren't what I'm here for. Give me all the takes on real life situations. Or things you can't live without. Or nothing, if you have nothing to say.
So I'm going to try to stop asking myself who cares. I care. I'll care in a few years about where we've been eating lately and how I spent my weekends and what I thought of different books. I'll instagram when I want to and not care that I just posted something similar or think that no one will like it. Some things just need to be captured and filtered, likes be damned.
As far as comments go (and if you care about such things), I've added a disclaimer that I may not respond to them. I like making friends and building a community, but life gets in the way and I don't want to feel guilty. I don't want to sound like an ungrateful jerk; I'm just being realistic with myself.
So am I back in the swing of things? I hope. I've gone to so many restaurants and I need to document them somewhere, whether anyone besides me cares or not.
(And for the record, to answer the above questions: food post to come, book post to come, LOVED the Parks and Rec finale SO SO much, I want to love TAL but it always gets boring in the middle, and Cadbury mini eggs are my favorite, forever and ever).