I am the soul that lives within
So here's the thing.
I don't really have any readers anymore. I know that. And I don't write too much anymore. Know that too. When I went back to work last year I was working reallllly loooooong hours doing creatively exhausting work and I had neither the time nor the brain power to write much. And the thing about blogging is, you don't write, people quit dropping in.
Which is cool. I figured I'd just keep my blog and write whatever whenever the urge hit me. Because when I go back to why I wanted a blog in the first place, it was a very simple answer: I wanted to write. I don't think I had any delusions of being the next online Dave Barry. But you get sucked in pretty quick with trying to build a readership. So I developed this online persona and I went to your web sites and commented with my link, and went to the web sites of your commenters, and commented there too. Because that's how you get readers. Which had become my blogging objective.
And then something life-altering happened to me. Which most of you probably didn't really want to hear about, so I never talked about it here much. I found god. I KID! But not really. I got sober. And unlike some celebrity party-girls, I actually quit drinking when I started going to AA. I admitted I was powerless over alcohol and I came to believe in power greater than myself. And gradually my life began to change. And the changes I've gone through don't really support my overdressed image.
I turned 40 and suddenly my health and my lifestyle habits became more important than my handbag.
I heard India.Arie's song "I Am Not My Hair" and I related to it.
I traveled to Boston in that one pair of 3 3/4-inch heels and ended up practically crippled by the time I got home. I realized that convincing us that we could walk around the city in high heels was just one way that Carrie Bradshaw nearly ruined my life. (See also: Cosmos)
When I bought the Skechers flats expressly for the purpose of wearing for travel, I realized that my life had turned a corner. I had exchanged cute for practical.
I still love shoes. I still hope to own a pair of Manolos one day. But I don't really feel like writing about that anymore.
I still wear the heels to work everyday. I still enjoy shopping. You can have my Benefit make up when you pry it from my cold, dead hands. But none of that defines me anymore.
I am not my hair.
I will write. But not here. I'll let you know where I land when I get there. But don't bother overdressing. We'll just be chatting in our pajamas at the new place.
Labels: so long
