So, what are we doing here?
Well, I’ve actually been trying to get myself to this point for quite some time. I’m really not sure how you stumbled upon my self-titled website, so I’ll just speak for myself.
Since I’ve had a conscious sense of what I like, writing has neared the top of the list. Rather than paying attention during school, I filled journals with recollections of my day, my joys and frustrations, and Taylor Swift-inspired song lyrics about my fourth grade crush. I started a newspaper covering the goings-on of my cul-de-sac with a circulation of myself and my parents, the story of our front lawn getting teepeed one night making the front page. My friends and I came up with our own versions of the American Girl books, telling the thrilling stories of our main characters getting braces, making friends and learning to roller skate. I wrote for the joy of storytelling. It was just fun.
When teachers as early as elementary school started telling me I was good at it, that was the nail in the coffin. I was going to be a writer. Specifically, I was going to be a travel writer, recording my adventures in far away places with fascinating people.
That’s where the name of this blog got the word, “traveler.”
How interesting then, that it’s taken me this long to write my first blog post, something sorority girls and suburban moms have handled just fine since the computer became a household item. For the record, I’ve made about 15 different WordPress and Wix sites with the intention of getting started, but I was never able to hit the publish button.
That, we can attribute to my clingy toxic friend, perfectionism. And her sister, insecurity. Perfectionism and insecurity lay dormant as long as I stay in my head, idealizing what it would be like to write a book, post a vlog, or move abroad, but the second I reach for a pen, or a camera, or my Google Flights search engine, they’re suddenly on my ass.
When my web design doesn’t look immaculate and professional after five minutes of work, panic that it’ll never be good enough ensues, and it feels safer to scrap the URL and act like the attempt never happened than to publish it, giving myself some space to grow and improve, but also opening myself up to criticism and judgement. Nope, I’d rather live in my nice, perfect head buddle, please and thank you.
And that is where this brand new blog received the adjective, “stagnant.”
The problem with my bubble is that while my consciousness is a-okay to stay in my head, my physical reality is not. And with my time in the safety net of inaction that is college set to expire in May, it’s probably about time I started working on what goes on out there in that terrifying “real world” I’ve been warned about for years.
The frustration that I didn’t just suck it up and pursue my interests more boldly when I was younger, and more malleable, and less concerned with silly things like failure or the opinions of others will probably continue to plague me for a while. I’m 21 years old and already terrified that I’ve wasted my youth. But you didn’t ask for the details of my quarter-life crisis. I’ll just grapple with that on my own time.
This blog is what I’ll consider an initial step out of and away from my bubble. It’ll serve as a place to document what I’m working on, where I’m going, and my thoughts on anything and everything. Broad, I know, but it might take me some time to narrow down which of the many directions I spend my time idealizing I actually want to take, so give me a minute.
With every story I tell here, I hope to get farther and farther outside of my own head. If you’re interested in witnessing my evolution (or devolution) as a storyteller and wannabee world-traveler, feel free to stick around. Your opinion of this whole thing scares me, and that is okay.