I had an epiphany this morning – that the internet has had stages, not unlike art movements. In art there was the Renaissance, Neoclassicism, Romanticism, Modern art, and Contemporary – and before you get too impressed with me, know that I totally wikipedia’d that shit. (After I google’d ‘art eras’, realized I meant ‘periods’, chuckled, then googled ‘art periods’ imagining bloody swathes of time).
Except those guys. Those guys totally thought about it.
But that wasn’t the epiphany.
The epiphany was that we had this era of perfection. Mom blogs and pinterest and epic themed parties. Taking a million selfies to post the one that’ll get the most likes. Only posting updates that show our bestest most awesomest side. There was even the epic fail sites that made us feel better cause at least we weren’t THAT GUY.
And, of course, cats.
We still have all these things and it’s been on my mind – where does this blog fit in all that?
Something I’ve noticed is that when I talk about the worse stuff. The dark stuff. The trauma, PTSD, and going to the doctor. That there are infinitely more visitors than when I talk about Toastmasters Groningen or tech talks or random thoughts.
And that’s okay.
And here’s the epiphany – this blog doesn’t fit anywhere, in any specific category, cause it’s my thoughts. Straight from the source. With very little editing. With all the dips and falls and wins and boring things all mixed together. And that’s okay, too.
But there’s something YOU should realize as well. That when you visit, when you read, when you hop around looking at different articles, even when you don’t comment, that you’re talking to me. You’re telling me what resonates — posts that garner more attention tend to stay on my mind more than those that receive little to no reception. And that isn’t to say stop reading or don’t comment or censor your visit, cause I want it all.
I appreciate you.
I cherish you.
And I promise that I will do my best not to censor myself as well. To give you all this shitty grammar in a pretty bow with a cherry on top. Or raw, without facade, if that’s the way the day’s going.
I promise to show you me.
Awkward thoughts and all.