I don't know if 30 would qualify as "mid-youth" by anyone's standards but because I am in perpetual and bottomless denial we're all gonna just go along with the title of this post. From the mouth of a precisely average-youthed babe. (See, I'm already being amusing. Aren't you glad to be reading this?)
Sometimes, I can muster up enough sense and/or self-consciousness to avoid spewing the contents of my mind across the internet whenever I feel so inclined. I'll type something up, pause to proofread, hover over the post button... and then in an act of great wisdom and discretion delete delete delete delete. This is not one of those times. Discretion be damned. Self-UNconsciousness be my guide.
I consider myself moderately intelligent, thoughtful, relevant. Moderately. I should keep up with current events better. I know I am uncool. But we all agree that uncool is cool by extended definition, so I'm good on that front, too.
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| Case in point. |
Where I'm not so good is the place that nagging feeling lives, where at the end of my every day I leave behind the same empty impression on the world as the last day, like a redundant black hole that shouldn't be physically possible but is. This is probably getting too introspective to be readable but - hear me out. (Or not. You're free to stop reading this at any point.)
I dislike cliches but one that I am bent on using anyway because of its unavoidable accuracy is this: my two children are the best thing I've ever done and will ever do. I'll never top them. And that's okay. I'll probably only talk about them here in small doses. This time, it is to acknowledge that my responsibility for and relationship to them day after day is nothing empty at all. For better or for worse (and most often it's for worse because you need to understand: these two tiny kids I made with my husband are inexplicably amazing and true and good, and I am really good at screwing up amazing, true, good things) - better and worse they are my very full impression on the world. That is a lot. I am glad to be leaving that impression. It is my undeserved privilege.
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| Madeline and Annabelle, future big impression makers. |
Aside from my children, however, I leave no other significant impression. (Another cliche of an unsalaried mom. This first post is not my best.)
I have lots of ideas about what I want to be when I grow up. (I promise the cliches will be less noxious in the future.) I am just beginning to try and sort that all out but I feel the weight of my mediocrity and lose momentum very quickly. As a result, my mind and body are wasting away to slovenly nothingness. I must act soon or I fear I'll lose so much of myself that I no longer qualify as a sentient being.
This is the year I have lived three decades. That is a long time to have avoided finding myself. ("Finding myself?" First step: admit the problem. "My name is Emily and I am a cliche addict. I am a walking, talking cliche.")
I just have to accept that as I age, more and more of my mental and emotional energy will need to be directed toward convincing myself that it is not too late for me to become who and what I will be.
Hence my delusion of still being comfortably in the center of my youth. Hence my "mid-youth crisis" (thanks, Hozier) presenting in the form of me shamelessly starting a blog at age 30.
If anyone is still reading: this blog is for me, not for you. It will probably make a lot of people feel offended, maybe even betrayed, and most definitely weird if/when we see each other in real life. I am of the opinion that weird should be embraced, not avoided. Probably because I am a total weirdo.
I feel I should also state that I'm not fishing for validation here. Honestly, just putting these thoughts "out there" is therapeutic. Cliches and all. If you feel you relate to any of my thoughts, I do welcome that information. I also welcome any feedback regarding my decision to finally start blogging. I've been wanting to start for a long time now but my pride has always been too big. Somehow gradually I've whittled away at my pride just enough to not mind that you unidentified readers will have now officially found out that I probably have nothing new whatsoever to contribute to the internet and am in fact just another mom desperately blogging her way to sanity.
So. This blog is my therapy, a way for me to develop my (often stunted) emotional and philosophical responses to life, to express my spiritual wonderings about life, to document my fondness for controversial topics - and also to get some poems out of my loose-leaf notebooks. (That one is my worst nightmare, actually.)
It's not going to be pretty.
But - welcome!
