It Can Be Color Coded to Perfection (And Other Lies I'm Done Telling Myself)
I tend to do this thing, coming from a marketing and a content strategy background, where instead of taking action on a really great idea or project, I plan it all out in a color-coded grid of efficiency. I've redesigned my content plan for this website, I'm not exaggerating, four times. Each plan was more detailed and colorful than the last.
When I would get done, I would look down at the level of thought and specificity that I put into these plans-- proof that I care about what I say to you fine folks, proof that I care about putting something out there into the collective din of the internet that might make a difference to someone, somewhere-- and I would hyperventilate a little. Because to execute these gorgeous, detailed, thoughtful, organized plans meant living a thoughtful, detailed, organized life and then documenting it in an articulate, thoughtful, detailed, organized way. And you guys... that is a lie, no matter how many times I post pretty photos of my cookbook library taken in the .5 seconds between hours of painstaking organization (read: shoving all clutter under the couch where it won't show up in the photo) and when my toddler destroys it again (read: .6 seconds later). What can I say, she learned early how much fun it is to take all the books off all the shelves and roll around in them. She's my child, through and through.
Here's the new plan: I have four things I do all the time, and so there are four things I talk about all the time. I read, I eat (and cook), I mom, and I... knuckles, what was the fourth one? I don't know. I do something else, too, and it's probably something vaguely lazy (like watching Netflix marathons, which I absolutely do do, but I'm not going to make you read about that because I 100% do not watch any of the "cool" shows) that I'll find a more polished and diplomatic way of talking about. "Consuming other media" perhaps. Or "Outdoor recreational activities" (which could be anything from having a mild heart attack in my driveway while my kid plays fast and loose with gravity on her new slide to chasing Bogart through the neighborhood, swearing loudly, in my bathrobe, when he makes a break for freedom through the front door).
I will not be writing about crafting, because I can't remember the last craft I completed past 80%. Maybe one day I'll write about my craft graveyard, where the abandoned projects have gone to die (RIP, Christmas cards. Maybe I'll send you out next year). Maybe not, because my inability to follow through on anything makes me look kind of flaky and I don't think that's particularly flattering. And let's be honest, a personal blog is all about pretending I have my life together, isn't it. Wait... isn't it?
PERSONAL FINANCE. That's the fourth thing. Whew, that's a relief. I was afraid for a second I had decided I was going to pretend I like exercise or something. I mean, that was probably never it because my entire life is a dedicated experiment in whether or not a person can survive solely on coffee, pop tarts, and smug know-it-all tendencies (so far, resounding yes!) but every now and then I have a crazy moment of ADULTING wherein I decide I should try something new. No, seriously, I have the twice-used yoga mat to prove it.
Books, food, family, and finances. Those are my focuses for this year, so that's what I'm going to be writing about. Probably at odd, irregular intervals. Probably with very little focus, through-story, or specificity above this. This is just what my life looks like, and I want to start capturing it in writing again. This is maybe where I should say something about, "I hope you like this!" or "I hope I don't disappoint you!" But if we're being honest-- and dear God, let's just agree to that, yes?-- and don't take this the wrong way, but, I am not writing this down for you. I am writing this down for me. So, I do hope my stumbling-toward-adulthood experiences shed light or wisdom or at least a chuckle at my expense into your lives, but I'm not going to be sorry if they don't.
I'm only going to be sorry if I don't find a way to catalog my story. You laughing (nicely, totally nicely, because you would never revel in someone else's apparent social or physical discomfort, you're way too worldly and polite for that) along is just a bonus.