Everyone has a blog these days, right? Whether it’s about politics, being a new mom, or Hollywood gossip, we all have something to say. I’m no different. I started this blog a little over three years ago – the day before my 33rd birthday, in fact. The following is my very first post which explains why I started:

I’m a blogger virgin. I’ve never done this before, although I’ve kept handwritten journals since the age of 14. Considering that my 33rd birthday is tomorrow, I’d say that’s quite a long time – and quite a stack of journals. I started writing in a spiral-bound notebook – the kind you get for school. The kind that teachers hate because when you tear out the page, you leave that annoying jagged edge. Nothing fancy. I used it religiously, and if I’m not mistaken, I finished the notebook before the school year was even over. Notebooks satisfied me for a while – they were easy to find and they were inexpensive. Two things that were important to me in my early teens (and even my college years).

Soon, however, I discovered these fancy, beautiful hardbound journals. I imagined writing all about my exciting life – romances, travels around the world, and my meetings with fascinating strangers. Not quite. They’re actually filled with painful stories of unrequited love, bad first dates, difficult break-ups, struggles to finish graduate school, anxiety over finding a “real” job, etc. Quite a number of years ago – almost 20 to be exact – my father gave me a book as a gift. It’s by Hugh Prather, and it’s called Notes to Myself: My struggle to become a person. If I could steal that title without getting in trouble, I would. That seems to be the theme of my journals.

Despite being 24-hours shy of turning 33, and having finished graduate school and found a “real” job, I still feel like I struggle to become a person. I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

So, why the blog? In the past couple of years, my journal writing has slowed down. I don’t seem to have the time or the energy to sit down with my notebook or journal. Honestly, it makes me kind of sad. I feel like if I ever decide to read through my life, a few years will be missing. And they were good years, too. Somehow, I always find the time to sit at my computer, so I decided that the blog is the way to go. Who knew that I would ever make the “journaling” switch? Not me, that’s for sure.

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