What draws me to blogging? Is it the non-obligatory regularity of posting? Is it the freedom to talk about absolutely anything? Is it the ability to make widespread announcements? Is it just because I find writing an easier way than speaking aloud to express myself? Is it that behind my outgoing header and background and stylistic voice, I find more confidence than when facing a crowd of anonymous people? Is it just that it makes me feel cool?
I’m pretty sure all of those apply. I do love blogging. But why? I don’t get paid. Maybe it’s because my reward is seeing my words finally outside my head, with the possibility of even getting feedback. My reward is being responsible for my own little space, however virtual, and what goes in and out and on it. My reward is finding conviction in my words – which is great because I LOVE to write, whether I use my writing as a career or not.
That is one reason why I strive to have a sort of schedule for my blog – I’m sure I will have something worked out by school reopening, but that may force this to be a once-a-week thing unless I write a ton of posts when I have to chance and post them every-so-often.
Also, I had a fleeting, heart-racing, “what if?” moment while washing my hands this morning – What if I styled my blog after a newsmagazine and “reported” on various things in my life, making my life seem hip and important.
(Which it is.)
That would require a lot of technical work and making pictures featured and changing a bunch of things around – which is stuff I am bored with and do not care to improve in – so that might not happen. But I feel like I just keep writing about philosophical things and intellectual things – which are exciting to me, at least – but they aren’t My Life. I wrote in my About page that I would be reporting on my mission to extraordinary-ness. Lessons learned – or, at least, tokens of wisdom uncovered in my brain – are extraordinary, but I feel like I am on the brink of preachy. And I hate preachy, so I’m reigning myself in. Plus, my beliefs are my beliefs, and they usually stem from vast amounts of learning done elsewhere that I can’t remember, so they might only make sense to people I can see in the flesh in my life. (Sorry, Internet.)
Another thing, I subscribe to a hiking blog, and blog about someone’s life in nature, a food-ish blog, and photo blogs! They always have exciting lives – albeit, they are in college and beyond – but I know my life is pretty exciting! Take a gander at what this gal gets to write about:
The water was glassy calm, and we hardly saw anyone. The lakes were silent save for the occasional bird call – loons darted about under our boat, surfacing close, then surfacing yet closer. It was magical. We set up camp by the glittering water, building bonfires, pan-frying fresh salmon. It was a tranquil welcome back to the wilderness, back to the north.
— where is acacia? blog
That is an exciting life!
* * *
I have this plan starting, though, for this year coming up. I spent the last two years timidly embracing opportunity – which I know I don’t have to do it loudly and out of my real personality, thanks to the book Quiet, which I will discuss later when I finish it; but I can do it in my own way – and I’m tired of it! I am going to make this year, starting tomorrow, the hippest yet! Actually, I’ve pretty much started already, by going vegan (I’ve given up on fancy names; I don’t even eat egg unless it’s really really inconvenient not to). Time to shed the things that hold me back, i.e. swimming competitively and thinking about getting judged, and have an extraordinary time, all the time. I’m on a mission to extraordinary; and it’s my righteous duty to report back here and document the path I take! Huzzah!!!!
I have a few tricks up my sleeve. It was suggested to me that I should learn all the instruments I can by February so I can audition on every single one of them for all the bands. (If you knew my teacher, you’d think this was comical.) I think this is a plausible idea. I will try as hard as I can – but guitar, then trumpet take precedence over all.
I also recently spent about an hour alone in my town the other day while waiting for a friend. It was actually pretty cool. I felt so independent and responsible, but also kind of hip, artsy, and subtly cool. I was slinking around town, people watching, and trying to read a whole magazine in the bookstore without buying it. (I failed, but the attempt convinced me to want to go back and buy it.) I want to start writing out around town, too, like in the library or in one of the dozen coffee shops, because people watching is neck-and-neck with actually having company around.
Lastly, there was this pack of people at school – The Pack, for now I will call them – and they were pretty hipster. They did whatever they pleased, thought they were dog-gone hilarious – which sometimes they were, but it got annoying, too – and generally were good at what they did (mostly music). They also have a wannabe following – The Pack, Jr., for now – of people from my grade. The Pack has graduated now, and all that is left is The Pack, Jr. The PJs. I was pretty intimidated by The Pack, Sr. – for these reasons: they were good in music, they were all male, and they all traveled together – but now I know there is nothing to fear. They have nothing on me, because I am a girl, two grades below them, and can function without a following. Whatever missteps I may take, embarrassing moments I shall take part in, and more all make hilarious stories to tell all of you – or stories of triumph!
My only frustration with The Pack and Jr. was that it felt like this:
all the time. I spent so much time caring what they would think of me! Especially since randomly some members would say hello – mostly the PJs – and I was pretty sure they were being sarcastic. And they all knew who I was, too, because they were mostly in the rhythm section; for goodness sake, I am the only girl playing guitar in the jazz program! I felt like I was being watched by them. Watched under the hot desert sun. Their guns ready to shoot…
But I have no way of knowing whether that was true! Because, as true hipsters, they were looking the other way, indifferent while my eyes squinted, dry and blurry, across the dusty town square to where they were all huddled together in cuffed jeans and shirts they’ve worn more than once, trying to start an applause for no reason.
I know now, though, that this year will be different. I will unload my gun and walk away and they can shoot however much they want – whether they were planning to or not – because I’ve got a bulletproof vest on. I like myself.
So if anything should arise, I can say: