Staring Off Into Space: A Memoir

I think I have to address the elephant in the room right off the bat. I’m, for lack of a better description, horrible at blogging. Something truly surprising to everyone who knows me. As someone who loves to talk and talk and talk, particularly about myself for hours, you would think a blog would be the best way to throw more out into the void. This thing should be soaring by now because anyone who talks to me has already heard all my good material anyway. However, I have a series of perfect contradicting combinations working together to keep this thing where it probably belongs…firmly on ground. Whether its my insecurity versus my inflated sense of self or my sheer laziness versus perfectionism, none of these things add up to anything timely or cohesive.

Add that to my own hang ups about blogging in general and you’ve got a recipe for disaster. I’m an avid consumer of blogs and even a former dabbler. Insert shameless plug for “Made for Matatus” my juvenile Tumblr attempt to capture my study abroad experience in Kenya. Despite this, I’ve never really been all that comfortable with the idea of putting some palatable version of yourself out there. I appreciate the many blogs out there on all sorts of topics and admire people’s ability to self promote themselves into being their own boss.  I just can never seem to justify doing it myself and don’t even feel that they should, millions of followers or not. But then, let’s not forget, I have an inflated sense of self and feel like I’m totally charming and photogenic enough (just go with the delusion) to create consumable content.

The end result is this. The sporadic, rambling mish mash you’re reading now. I spend way too long thinking about every single thing I create. I want to take tons of pictures of myself all over the place but have self consciously only perfect one pose. The previously referenced “Staring off into space” otherwise known as the “My Face Looks Best At This Angle” (patent pending). I’m so lost in my head about all this that I create nothing, totally immobilized by my desire to make something good. It’s not about the audience (because we all know it’s just my mom and my aunt). It’s about creating something that feels authentically me.

So, the big question, why a blog? All the big lead up aside, it comes down to this. Moving to a foreign country is a huge scary f@%&*$ thing. The loneliness is real, the anxiety is real, the isolation is real. As someone who has made a habit of moving all over the place and essentially running away from my old life at every opportunity, I feel I owe it to myself and the people I’ve left behind. I’ve never known a way to make every part of my life feel cohesive and real. While that remains to be learned, I can say with certainty that this is the farthest I’ve ever felt from my own life but also the most real I’ve felt in years.

Let’s take a lesson from the crappy cult-ish self help seminar I took at the insistence  of my equally crappy ex boyfriend. Anything is possible if it occurs to you as an opportunity. Just earned the shit out of my $500. There’s an opportunity in blogging. There’s an opportunity to reach outside your bubble and make the loneliness of being far away from home feel so much smaller. So welcome to my therapy, only costs $8 dollars a month for me and makes the world a cozier place. It’s a steal. The bottom line of it all? This is a work in progress that’s aimed at me being less of a work in progress.

Elephant: Addressed. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming of me making a damn fool of myself all over Germany.

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