The art of a sinking ship Or The art of sinking a ship

So, I’ve sort of single handedly sunk my own blogging ship, haven’t I? Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’ve virtually stopped posting and that when I do it’s just a batch of pictures with very straightforward, “yeah, for the millionth time, you love your friends” kind of captions and explanations beneath each one.
My bad.
I really didn’t mean to stop blogging and I miss the consistent relationship that I had with this medium in a way that makes me feel sort of shy and awkward in moments like these when I come back to make a post that I actually plan on putting a little time into– like a friend who you haven’t called in a while that you run into while hanging out with someone else.
Partially, Instagram is to blame. In the past, there would be something exciting, or small, or small and exciting that would happen in my day and I would take a picture or make a mental note and then plan a whole post around it, thinking about what I’d want to say for hours, writing down specific phrases that I wanted to use, formulating something that felt like an explanation of me. Those posts would eventually lead me to other places that I didn’t expect and drive the blog forward. Now, it’s way simple (and faster– darn you, instant gratification addiction!) to just hit “share” and sum up whatever experience in a few lines.
But I’m truly bothered by people who use technology and social media as a giant blanket excuse for problems in our generation. So, I will also say that truly only I am to blame for the lack of blogging. A mix of time management decisions and an increased insecurity, not so much in my writing, but in the far reaching-ness of a blog where there is little writer/reader interaction sometimes makes me feel that my words 1. come off as a little needy and or 2. I feel a little… used…? Not sure if that’s the right word. But sort of vulnerable in a way of like, wait a second– you’ve known me inside and out for years and I don’t even know your name. Not cool, man!
Nevertheless, I must move on from that feeling if I am ever going to continue to do anything even remotely related to any artistic field because essentially, that’s exactly what you’re signing up to do in the first place, right? Bare your soul, tell all your secrets, stand naked in front of an auditorium people with a lights on all of your moles and birthmarks and lumpy parts, hear nothing back from the audience and then do it again tomorrow in a new and interesting way. Maybe that’s why I have such a hard time seeing my specific place in this world; there’s so much giving and hardly any sharing.
But, I am going to try and share more. Guilt free sharing. Shame free and on my terms. Until I’m blue in the face and you are all wondering why I think I’m such a big deal in the first place. Believe me. I do not think I am a big deal– there have been years and years and years of telling myself and knowing that I am not, in fact, a big deal. But I have learned/am learning to know that I am, at least, a deal– some sort of deal. Or maybe just someone’s deal. And that it’s ok to know that.
So, I’m going to be doing some of that this week if ya wanna read it.

2 thoughts on “The art of a sinking ship Or The art of sinking a ship

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