There was a fun thing going around Twitter the other day about what you wanted to be when you grew up, at different school stages of your life. I thought I’d expand upon it here, because while Twitter is good for some things (like memes, jokes, poisoning the social media well with white male supremacist toxicity, watching the U.S. collapse into straight-up fascism in real time, cute animal videos), there aren’t enough characters in a single tweet for me to really dig deep into what I imagined my line of work would be in THE REAL WORLD.
First, a disclaimer: I can’t say I ever really wanted to grow up. I didn’t want to always be living with my family and I definitely fantasized about having a career or two, but there was little I saw of adults that made me think, “Yeah, I want to be one of them!” I didn’t want to smell like sweat and cigarette smoke, I didn’t want to yell and get yelled at by people, I didn’t want to always be complaining about my job and stressing about money, I didn’t particularly want to drive a car, I didn’t want to stop playing. Unfortunately, growing up is pushed on all of us whether we want it or not. Some people might argue about how well I’ve achieved “grown up” status, and being an adult is something I resist as much as possible, but here I am regardless.
Second, another disclaimer: this post is taking me longer to write than I thought it would when I started it, so I’m breaking it up into two posts.
For someone who talks as much as I do, and I’ve been told all my life that I talk a lot*, it’s funny how often I feel like I don’t have anything to write about. I mean, I have a lot of (vague, not-so-vague, super-incredibly-vague) story ideas, but one of the many things that stalls me from writing them start-to-finish is the nagging question “What exactly am I writing about? Do I really have anything to say?” When I write non-fiction pieces for this blog, I try to keep the post on-topic and not just ramble, and it isn’t often I feel like I have something important and specific to say that warrants a blog post.
But in real life, in person, I mostly just ramble and babble. Right now, I’m wondering why I’m okay with doing that in person (not that I can really help it, it’s just the way my brain and mouth work) but not in writing (where I can edit, rewrite, organize, and trim off all the things I don’t think are relevant–but do I absolutely HAVE TO do that?).
I’ve been wanting to publish on this blog more. It’s been nagging at me for at least the past six months. But then days and weeks go by where I don’t feel like I have anything worthwhile and organized to write about. Soooooo…maybe I’ll just babble more? I think it’s okay to do that. Considering it’s my blog and no one is being forced to read it. (If you’re currently being forced at gunpoint to read this blog, I’m sorry. Please read this next sentence aloud: “Dear captor forcing me to read this at gunpoint, you should put the gun down, walk away, and reconsider your life choices. Thank you.”) I’ve looked at my blog stats and I don’t get a lot of hits. This isn’t a bad thing, this is liberating.
Okay so yeah, more blogging about whatever, as well as the usual poetry and rare short story. For reals. (more…)