June 18, 2012

Hot Mess

It's the second week of summer vacation, and I'm a hot mess.

Literally. It's hot out, and inside, I'm a big mess.

Since late last week I've been in the midst of what can only be called a blogging existential crisis. Some inner switch flicked on some very glaring, unflattering lighting, and revealed to me the contents of my days for the last six months.

Blogging. Writing. Revealing myself and my home to the world.  Spilling my guts like a guest on Oprah's couch.  Why?

I'm having a hard time remembering. 

It had something to do with community: wanting one, hoping to find one, even though in my secret heart I still believe I'm actually forever excluded from the club, the sorority of close female friendships. Call it karma, call it personality, call it the way I was raised, by a mother with no close friends herself. 

Your thoughts become your reality. More Oprah. 


I made myself a deal, to try this out, to commit to it for the year.  We're halfway through.  It could be the routine that's freaking me out. It could be the cold eye I cast upon all of this blather. It could be that by creating a Facebook page, by pinning images from my home onto Pinterest, by putting myself out there, I'm becoming a lot less anonymous than when I started.

But wasn't that the point?


The goal is to be specific, to have a specific, unique voice and to thereby attract others. The goal is to have a large audience. Large enough, and I could possibly monetize all these hours in this chair. In climbing this learning curve of blogging, I look to others: mentors, peers, who are farther ahead in the game.  The game, the "branding" the "social media," the learning what the hell SEO stands for:  perhaps its merely all this that's got me down.   And mentors and peers are not, alas, a community. Not quite.

Look. I'm not a photographer. I'm not a decorator, or a crafter.  I once fancied myself a baker, but it turns out I'm actually a better cook (less attention to detail, go figure).   I've no product, no services to sell.  I'm a writer, and a mom who lives in a cookie-cutter house in the middle of a rather isolated suburbia, with no local access to good design except for the internet and a few antique stores.  But if you want to talk about Waddy Wachtel or Bob Welch, or about Sunday drives on the back roads of Hemet, you've found the right place.

You, me and my husband.  We'll just hang out here.   See who comes around.

For now, I'll resist downloading the blog into a Blurb book and shuttering the whole thing.  For now I'll try to remember this quote, which is me to a TEE:

Romance. Parenting. Summer vacations, and the Christmas holidays. There's always a picture in my head of how it should be. And now there's one for the blog, too.  My picture doesn't match my reality, not by a long shot. But by showing up here for the last six months, at least I've made my January goal a reality.   That must count for something, somewhere. 

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