HI HELLO HEY THERE
And we're back?
There's somewhat of a blog resurgence happening and I'm here for it.
The past couple weeks, I've particularly enjoyed seeing emails come through notifying me that someone in my sweeping—and increasingly random—digital network has returned to (or started) using newsletter platforms. Such a trend may be due to the potentially universal nod social media is in its flop era. Twitter has gone to shit, the Instagram algorithm hasn't favored me since 2019 AT LEAST, I feel too old for TikTok and Facebook is only good for lol-cringing at what you posted on there some 14, 15 years ago. I don't think any of us have the answers or the willpower to stop using every social media platform entirely. Logging off forever sure is tempting but we're all in so deep, we seem to have begrudgingly accepted we're not going to collectively do that anytime soon.
So when I got an email on NYE celebrating my 18 year anniversary of being a LiveJournal user, even though I haven't logged in once the past decade, it felt like a push to reconnect with that part of what was once a very routine—yet not overwhelming or strict—part of my day. Also, isn't time weird?! Like, my online writer persona can now officially register to vote. Wild. I'll admit I have been toying with the idea of dusting off this lil internet corner of mine for maybe the past six months or so, and really thinking about what that could look like. Those who know me best know I love a good fresh start to something (anything) at the beginning of a new year. I can't help it. I'm certainly not above making fun of myself for my "new year, new me" tendencies, either. ANYWAYS. We're here. 2023. I've logged into my Substack for the first time since March 9, 2021! Let's do this! Whatever that means!
Now allow me to wax poetic for a minute.
There are years that feel foundational and years that feel like you're on the brink of something, finally, maybe. There are years that blur; years that sharpen. These yearfeelings intersect and contradict and hold new-yet-familiar meanings depending on the circumstances surrounding such a romanticized reflection. This time around, as I sit on the edge of the slide and begin to glance ahead, it feels like I'm ready. For what, however, I have absolutely no idea. Not in the slightest. Just know I'm ready to go through the motions of warming up my voice and practicing what it means to sit with a blank page again. It feels nice. It took a lot of inner work, the kind you can't always see for yourself, for me to get back to this place. That much I know is true. I've spent an incredible amount of time trying to figure out how to write again and what to say and how to explain or rationalize how I simply haven't done it in what feels like ages. (Reader, she had a branded article published a couple weeks ago but thinks it doesn't count). But guess what, none of that matters. The answer is just to sit down and do it. When you want to and also when you don't. Michael Ventura's astute observation is evergreen: Writing is something you do alone in a room.
Yep, you guessed it. I'm alone. I'm my room. And we're already 550+ words in. So far so good. Feel free to hit me back and let me know what you've been up to in these strange times, or share what your basic "new year, new me" signature move is. Strong chance I’ll support it. You're also free to unsubscribe or stick around to see what I end up doing with this here Substack. Make the internet your own this year… I guess?