Never Gone Long

Every time I sign in to this blog and begin a post, I lose the will about two paragraphs in and just give up, and I'm not sure why that is. This blog has been a really safe space for me -- it has allowed me to be honest about topics that I'm not sure I would have had the courage to be honest about before. I've had so many people tell me that they enjoy it, that they think I have something of real substance to say. It has allowed me to open up about mental health, about my experiences with single-shaming, about the love and goodness I can't believe I get to be surrounded by. And I want to continue on with it, I do. I will. The last few months have just been an odd head space for me. I don't want to chalk it up to turning 30, because honestly, I really love being in a new decade (for the 8 weeks I've been in one). My 20's were really up and down in a way that I don't miss -- personally, professionally, drunken textedly (don't worry, that's a word -- I've spoken to Noah Webster).

I think a part of it is that I still feel like a 14 year old masquerading as an adult. Does that feeling ever really go away? Probably not. And I'd really not like to regress back to my 14 year old self, she was not kind to herself. AT ALL. She still comes out though, sometimes. Especially when I see or speak to people I grew up with. And I have no idea what to do with that. You always want to play it cool when you see people who knew you when you had braces and no self-esteem to speak of. I always like to think I'm being so blase and chill (cannot pull off that word. Can't do it), then I get home and lipstick was smeared or a button was open. Or, honestly, the guaranteed 'Tara Huntley Method of Not Being Chill Even A Little Bit:' Engaging in small talk and laughing really oddly at something that's not even remotely humorous, like someone telling you that their chosen vocation is a bank teller. I laugh because I'm super uncomfortable. And because small talk is right up there with bad grammar on my list of mortal enemies. And clearly, this happens when talking to good looking men, because of course it does. Because God or the Great Aretha Franklin or whomever, has chosen to look me over when they handed out the 'this is how you talk to another human being in a way that isn't awkward' genes. 

It's a process I am constantly working on. A process that I get more comfortable with as time passes. Just like I'm getting more comfortable with the fact that people genuinely think I'm funny or something approaching not hideous to look at (but really, I'm super adorable, I think we all know that). We all have our own processes, our own ways of dealing with our idiosyncrasies and neuroses. I just like to write mine down, because it helps me realize how ridiculous I can be sometimes. Though my feelings are valid and I certainly am entitled to them, seeing them in front of me allows me to put it all in perspective. It allows me to find the fortitude to tell myself 'look, you're clearly not happy, do something about it.' 

So, while I may abandon this blog for stretches at a time, it's never for good. At least until I ride off into the sunset with Tom Hiddleston, which should be happening any day now.