Blogging is back, baby!

Since I moved to Chicago in September, I’d been thinking about starting an online journal not unlike the one I kept while living in St. Louis. In the 2000s, I used to describe my outings around the city. I’d share photos, talk about my relationship, think aloud about politics and culture, and wrestle my as-yet undiagnosed mental health issues. But what if I could do that now, when one of these situations is undeniably worse, but everything else is better?

I’ll acknowledge upfront that the current government and everything it ruins is going to influence what I write. I can’t ignore what’s going on, but I couldn’t ignore the Bush II administration, either – and I believe their decisions and policies laid the groundwork for where we are today, so they don’t get credit for being less overtly awful – and yet I still managed to find space to write about going to movies, eating at restaurants, taking public transit, and working on crafts. I’d like a space where I can write about these things.

And I’d prefer it be semi-private. I kept an online journal of some kind for over a decade. I flirted with the idea of amassing thousands of readers when I discovered the online journal community in the late ‘90s. Now I’d be content with tens of readers, especially in era where online fame is a minefield. Fame of any kind was alluring in my 20s, but as I near 50, I take comfort in obscurity. You attract fewer creeps, and you rarely worry about your personal brand.

I know the pressure to attract and retain subscribers is real if sharing online content is your primary means of support, but I’ve felt a version of that pressure, worrying about a minus-one in my Instagram subscriber count –– who did I lose? Was it because I haven’t posted in a few weeks? Was it because I haven’t engaged enough with their posts? Was it because I keep posting CTA train reels? Do I actually care? Am I trying to achieve Instagram fame?

No. I’ve just conditioned myself to measure my value in three-digit numbers, knowing I won’t see a comma in my subscriber count unless I go viral, which would most likely happen for the wrong reasons.

I don’t feel authentic online lately, and that bothers me. Facebook feels overwhelming. Instagram is overwhelming. Chats with friends have become overwhelming. And I’ve got an ongoing job search in a shitty economy to keep me overwhelmed, so I’ve withdrawn. I understand that feeling of overwhelm comes from within. Nobody is putting pressure on me to respond every day to current events, and I’m not expecting my friends to do that, but when I tap blue f on my phone, I instinctively hold my breath, because chances are high that the first thing I encounter will anger or sadden me.

(Oh dear, am I sounding like Barbara Bush wanting to protect her “beautiful mind” from thinking about displaced Hurricane Katrina survivors?)

I’m going to see if I can be authentic here. I’m going to try to remember what it’s like to write without minding my follower count (“Back in my day, you had to do some homework to figure out who’s reading your shit!”). Here’s the newest addition to my decades-old blogography, joining Mental Sewage, Bring on the Loser, Meanwhile, This is Frippy, and the handful of Columbia-era blogs whose names I’ve forgotten.*

And yes, I’m done with the “serial, life-based non-fiction” nonsense I used to weakly differentiate myself from bloggers in the 2000s. It’s a blog, and I’m okay with that. See? I have grown!

Also, I am disabling comments. This is a one-way signal, just like it used to be.

*If none of this makes sense, you either don’t remember or you’re new here. None of old journals are online anymore, so don’t worry. There’s no required reading.