Wednesday, April 30, 2008

I'm just not that into you. . .

Meaning myself. Sometimes I think having a blog means you are extremely narcissistic (See Waterhouse’s Echo and Narcissus, left).

Since starting this blog about 24 hours ago, five to ten different posts have composed themselves in my head. Does this mean I am horribly self-involved, or that I live too much in my own head space (and need to write in my journal more)?

Abby is right—who are blogs really written for?

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Things I can't get out of my head. . .

Random note before I get to the actual post:

I have a healthy addiction to ellipses, so I am going to apologize now. I will be using them a lot. If you do not like them, please be forgiving and realize that I know it is a character flaw, but I am working on it.


Though not a complete list, the things below have been stealing into my conscious thoughts lately, and I cannot seem to shake them. So, today, I am hoping to share them in order to let them go, or at least give myself a cache of clickable friends to visit. These are in no particular order.

The pressure of naming your blog. . .

Naming a blog terrifies me to pieces. A blog is an online representation of you—your entire essence—the youness of you. The trouble is there is so much to me that I can never just decide which me I want to be (Also, to have a blog you need to be undeniably clever or have a great hook, neither of which I really have...).

Though some will argue that the use of the word “girl” is somehow derogatory to women, the truth is I don’t necessarily feel like I am more than a girl yet anyhow. Don’t get me wrong, I am an extremely intelligent and competent woman, but part of me—the part of me that still doesn’t know what I want to be when I grow up despite being nearly 30—is still a girl trying to figure it all out.

“The Girl I Mean to Be” is a song from the 1991 Norman-Simon musical the Secret Garden. “The girl I mean to be,” the blog, will be an outlet for my multiple personalities—the musical theatre geek who longs for a performance outlet; the Anglophile (yes, I spelled theatre the British way—get over it) who loves all things from those lovely Isles; the writer who wishes she had more time to devote to the stories in her head (but also fears letting those stories out—once something is started you must finish, and she is terrified she cannot); the reader who cannot seem to soak up enough imaginary worlds (yet struggles to live in the one she inhabits); the media addict who loves her TV shows, wants to be a screenwriter, owns way too much music (but can’t seem to stop looking for more), and can’t get over her need for pop culture trivia; the cook who longs to be a chef (and longs for an endless pantry of supplies to work with); the feminist who isn’t sure she buys into that label but is emphatic about celebrating the women in her life; the cubicle dweller who longs for travel and adventure; the outward cynic who is really just a hopeless romantic; the daughter and sister who wants to connect more with her family but also keep them a psychologically healthy distance; and the daughter of God who loves His gospel but struggles to live it while trying to find her place in His church. Add puzzles, books, friends, philanthropy, classic films, a mortgage, family history, a healthy dollop of nerdy geekdom, some random spices, and shake not stir. . .

I know we are all a little schizophrenic, but I feel like I am a little more so than the people around me or maybe they hide it better. Either way, welcome to the start of the girl I mean to be (minus the 30 odd years I have been working on it before this).

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