An open letter from me to my blog.


This is the Chicago Bean…erm, Cloud Gate, where I envision that the following awkward conversation between me and my old friend, this blog, takes place.

Well, well, well, we meet again, blog. I envision this as a chance encounter on the street with an old friend. We didn’t have a falling out; we just grew apart. And that’s why this is awkward, because I accidentally clicked your link while trying to go to Facebook (that attention hog) and…well…it’s been a while.

You’re looking nice these days.

And I’ve let myself go, you say? What a thoughtful thing for you to say.

Soooo…I feel a little uncomfortable with you, blog, because where do I begin to catch up with the friend who used to hear all of my stories and know all of my secrets? How do I pick up where I left off?

(It’s easy to be guarded when you fall out of the habit of communication; writing, as it were.)

How have I been? Lazy? Well, how kind of you to suggest that, but no…well, sometimes, yes. [I see what you’re thinking, blog, and no, I — what? Am I keeping other blogs? No! Well, there is this obsession with Foodgawker, so I’m not keeping them…but I am keeping up with them, and not you.]

Thing is, I’m not sure “how I’ve been.” I’ve been so many things lately. I’ve been up and down. I’ve been happy and still a little un-content. I’ve been fulfilled at work and then unsure how to find myself when the workday ends. I’ve been home and back (literally, not figuratively). I’ve been contemplating why it is that everyone tells you to graduate and have an adventure (which is great, by the way), yet no one tells you that the adventure may be very lonely.

Here’s the real truth, blog. Sometimes I think you won’t love me if I don’t write often enough…and then I remember that I haven’t written in weeks…over a month, in fact. We’re already a little bit like long lost friends who were close for a season. That thought alone often keeps me from writing: There is too much to say that already has gone unsaid, and there’s no way to catch up.

But isn’t that the case with any friendship that has grown stale? It’s our own fear that keeps us from reaching out–the fear that our cautious, extended hearts will not be returned. More often than not, I’d rather save myself the potential pain than find out if the effort is worth the risk.

Oh, blog. I just don’t know what to do with you. Do I try to catch you up on everything? Is is even worth it to write you a “highlights” reel, a list of my top moments so far? Do I write an awkward letter to you, blog, and post it publicly as a declaration of my strange current feelings about blogging?

Well, there’s that. It’s a start.


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