This is not the blog I thought it would be. When I first started toying with the idea, my goal was to launch a yearlong project aimed at finding my passion and forgetting my heartbreak. While that mission sounds pretty private, I didn’t really plan on sharing too many personal stories. I assumed I’d be writing mostly about traveling, with occasional posts musing about random things like food or whatever. My intention was for the first few weeks to be about my walking the Camino de Santiago, then a few weeks at home, then a volunteer trip to Ecuador, then a few weeks at home… you get the idea.
Then my grandfather fell. And, inevitably, the posts have gotten more personal, as they should have. After spending hours in hospital rooms, posting about macaroons feels frivolous.
The truth is, I’m a really private person. This whole blogging thing is well outside of my comfort zone, which is part of the appeal. I was raised to believe that being private is a good thing, that the public sphere isn’t the place to air your wins or your losses. Yet, the last few years have taught me just how old-fashioned that ideal is. I don’t want to flaunt my life, but I don’t want to hide it either. What’s more, I don’t want to be forgotten about because I’m not on Facebook.
I occupy the 21st century with a high degree of ambivalence.