Here We Go
Updated: Mar 12, 2020
I’ve gone back and forth trying to start this website a hundred times. I’ve started and then scrapped it and then started over a year later. I’ve written countless posts, articles, and ramblings with want to share them someday. And for one reason or another, they just never ended up happening.
With the start of a new phase of my life, I’ve decided to stop letting “one reason or another” keep me from following through on things.
I’m on the recuperation trail of unwinding from one of the most intense years of my life. I moved to and from Berlin. I got my heart broken into a million and one pieces by someone I trusted with everything. I started at a new school and dropped out. I felt anxiety in a way I never have before. I lost myself and found her again. I saw five new countries. I learned a new language. I lived alone in a foreign place. The list could go on and on. I hope to delve more into this as a main point of this website, and talk about what those things were, how they affected me and how I survived them. This is partly for my own healing process and partly to assist anyone who is going through anything remotely similar. We’ll get into the blood, guts, and gore of all of that later, but for now, an introduction.
I’ve always known I was a writer. I remember so vividly my first real creative writing class in 7th grade. The assignment was to write a short story. That was it. No boundaries on the topic, no guidelines as to what it had to be about. All we knew is it had to be a story, and at the end of the class our teacher would be reading each of them out loud to the rest of us. I was ECSTATIC. During childhood, my brother and I used to spend our afternoons running around our expansive yard making up stories and imagining ourselves inside of them. We would play out the scenes from our favorite books and become the characters in so much detail that we would dream about them. When I learned how to string together nouns, verbs, and adjectives in a way that satisfied my imagination, I started to write those stories down. I’d make them up and scribble them down, I’d draw the characters, I’d live inside my mind in an effort to find something more interesting than basic human existence. I’d run through our forest and climb the trees, yelling to the wind. Bridge to Terabithia was my favorite movie.
In an attempt to tie up the loose ends of my frazzled neurological pathways, I am here again. Writing has always been my life vest. I’ve written myself in and out of situations, in and out of emotions, and in and out of work. I started my first blog when I was 13 and my parent’s packed up our Wisconsin farm house and moved us to Costa Mesa, California, and I had no one else to talk to other than the internet about it. I’m pretty sure only my best friend and my Grandma read it, but I still remember the calm it brought me and the joy I had looking back and reflecting on it, even when I wasn’t writing about good things. My first real job was as a journalist correspondent for my hometown’s newspaper, and I couldn’t believe it happened when it did. I’ve always kept a journal, for as long as I can remember, and I still do. But I’m a modern girl living in a digital world, and I want to take it back to the internet.
So now I will be here, in my own little corner of the world wide web, talking about the things that matter to me. Heartbreak and how to heal it, anxiety and how to deal with it, and the human condition of life and how to feel it. I’ll be making playlists and writing poems and taking pictures and publishing rants and articles.
I’ve experienced a lot in my 21 years here, and I always think we all have something to learn from each other, when it comes to being human. If nothing else comes of this blog than me processing my emotions and practicing my craft, then that will be enough. But if even one person along the way is able to see something of themselves in it, then that is a great bonus.