This time I’m finding myself with a bad case of audacity and I’m going to *gasp* actually be honest. The bubbly sweet thing of the previous blogs? Sorry honey, not me.
I am a bit of an obsessive person. Type-A, very ENFP for those of you into Myers-Briggs, I am all about production. I can’t do yoga if I’m not in a class because I feel like I’m not really doing anything. Unless there are at least two things going on (three is best) I feel under-stimulated. However, my penchant for doing everything at the same time doesn’t exactly lead to outstanding work. I’m not Superwoman—I don’t do lots of things at the same time better than your average person, I just like it more. So a lot of times I fall into the category of being busy without being productive.
The internet certainly keeps me busy. There are so many new posts every morning on Google Reader, my Facebook needs to be updated, my Etsy stores need items relisted, and I have to keep track of all the great ideas I find all over the place in my trusty Evernote. And that doesn’t even include posting on my former blog, commenting on other people’s to increase traffic, or wiling away the hours on Stumble. I am a Twenty-First Century college student—and I have the Firefox full of saved passwords to prove it.
But all this internet mumbo-jumbo isn’t helping me be productive. At the end of the day, I’m just moving inspiration around. I’m bookmarking tons of diy ideas to try some day but never doing them, I’m “updating” friends on my life without really talking to them and, perhaps worst of all, I’m internalizing intense jealousy over all the people who are happy, successful, and actually doing what I want to do. I want to write. I always have. But I’ll be darned if I can sit down and do it without worrying about my audience, or how this is going to generate traffic, or how my mother will take it, or whether the world really can benefit from my opinion. I usually get a title typed and then the stress of it all is just too melodramatic to allow me to continue.
Writing is, however, what actually makes me happy. It’s what is missing from my life when my day is just okay, even though nothing bad happens. It’s what makes my day better when it has gone well on its own. Its what I want to do for a living. So it struck me the other day: Why aren’t you doing it? Hang Google Analytics and AdSense and empty followers lists. I’ll talk just hear myself if I have to. Writing just helps the world make sense, and I’m not going to deny myself that any more. And that's why this is a blog about courage. It's time to hang up the expectations, do what makes me happy, and risk enough to sleep soundly at night.
So am I scared its just phase? Definitely. Did I try to just spell “phase” f-a-z-e? Yes. I like to write, but I’ve never been much of a speller.