I remember wanting to be an author from a very young age. My first book was called “Snow, snow everywhere.” It was winter in Utah and presumably I looked out the window, saw snow on the ground and just went for it. Inspired by the repetitive texts of Hooked on Phonics, I wrote something like this:
“Snow on the grass. Snow on the swings. Snow on the house. Snow, snow, everywhere!”
Apparently, it was lost on me that my last name was Snow and I could have done some clever word play with a book exclusively about snow. No wonder it was never published.
Next came the journals. I started and never finished several in elementary school, though most of those only have a few pages in the front with writing. I was never a consistent journal keeper until 8th grade when I started writing about all the shit that hits the fan during the years I refer to as the universally smelly armpit of childhood. Since then, I’ve probably fill up about a dozen journals.
I’ve also tried to blog before. One was called “The Epitome of Possibility” which was supposed to chronicle my “adventures” as a young adult. Since I generally feel like a boring human, I never had many adventures to document. It didn’t take long for the possibility to peter out. I also attempted to keep a “weight loss” blog in the name of personal accountability. Ha! That also lasted for about a month, only slightly shorter in duration than my diet.
So, when recently I started getting an itch to write and thought about a blog, my instinct was to doubt. I’ve been there, I’ve tried and failed at that. But I kept thinking about it.
What if I had a diabetes blog? A school psychology blog? A body positive blog? A personal blog? A baking blog? A blog about my dog?
I greeted each of these idea with a “No, nope, definitely not.” Mostly, I told myself I could not write about these things because I was not good enough at any of them. Blogs are for people who know what they’re talking about, I thought. Not you.
And then this idea came.
What if I had a blog about adulting?
Okay, this is not a novel idea. There is literally an entire BOOK titled Adulting. Yes, I’ve read it and I own it… wait, so maybe it is a “NOVEL” idea…? Get it?
Anyway, surely there are hundreds of internet blogs with this theme. But why not one more? Because adulting is all of those other ideas wrapped into one ambiguous catch phrase. Which gives me the freedom to write about anything I want.
- Dealing with chronic illness and confronting your mortality.
- Having a job that you might love, but maybe also hate
- Taking care of a lot of boring shit even when you don’t want to
- Having a dog that you treat as your child.
- Maybe someday also having a child…?
- Trying to have hobbies, even though you feel too busy
- Working on making peace with your body
- Confronting mental illness head on.
- Making room in your life for the people you love
- Trying to be well.
- Failing. Often.
The truth is, I don’t think there are enough words on the internet about how FUCKING HARD it is just to be a functioning person, but more than that, how often we fail at that goal.
And that’s the voice I want to bring to the world. That adulting is hard. And often I fail. And that’s okay.
Truthfully, on day 1 as I begin writing this blog, I don’t really care if anyone reads these words. I am here because I have something to say. I am here to find my voice. I am here to fulfill my childhood dream of being a writer. I don’t need others to read my words to accomplish any of that.