I’ve just read a blog post by the lovely and talented Edward Hotspur, it made me all introspective and thinky. He uses this service where your current self can send an email to your future self. I didn’t research the particulars, but it sounds like a pretty good idea. It made me think about what I would have said to myself now, if I wrote a letter to me a year ago. Other than “don’t drink the vodka,” I couldn’t come up with very much. This caused more introspective thinkiness.
I started this blog about a year ago, because I needed to do something that I was good at. Hear that? Yeah, that’s the sound of me tooting my own horn. I was really into it at first. I wrote everyday, sometimes twice a day..then people starting reading it and commenting…which was super cool…and continues to be…super cool. I thought “Hey, maybe I could make a living doing this, if I’m honest and passionate about the things I write about, people will be able to tell, and maybe someone will pay me to do something I love”. That hasn’t happened, yet. I’m not sure that it ever will. I’m ok with this. I do it anyway. This, I’m told, is what people do when they love something. I doesn’t matter if they get paid, if they ever find success, if they ever get rewarded, they just do. I am reminded of this everytime I log on to Facebook and someone that hates their life is encouraging me by posting a picture of a kitten with the phrase “follow you’re dreams” on it. What kittens and poor grammar have to do with finding my purpose in life, I’m not sure.
Hotspur’s post really screwed with my day. Instead of doing laundry and mopping the floor, I just sat and thought…well, that was after I had my own living room dance party, while the boyfriend napped on the couch, but the sitting and thinking followed. I kept going over what “then me” would have said to “now me”. I probably would have encouraged myself to keep trudging along and be a voracious writer. My current life got in the way of me going out and getting the life I really want. It’s hard to write everyday. I stopped being honest and passionate. I stopped writing about the things I really wanted to write about, because the people in my life that I was writing about weren’t amused by my honesty and passion. I got tired of hearing “This is embarrassing. You know, my friends and/or family read this?”. It took the wind out of my sails, I didn’t tell anyone to read it in the first place. I haven’t perfected my mind control skills yet, if I had, right now you’d be compelled to make yourself a bowl of chocolate ice cream and send me a hundred dollars. If people that I don’t know are reading my words, it’s not because I alerted them to the existence of the blog…it’s because you did. I was worried that I’d hurt some feelings. I made a conscious decision not to spill my innermost, private thoughts on the internet, for the reading enjoyment of at least five people. I’m kinda mad at myself for it. Then me is really pissed at now me.
I wrote a letter, it’s still in my head but once I get it on paper it’s going to say something like this: Dearest Scarp, Don’t drink the vodka. Don’t censor yourself, if they really love you they’ll forgive you. Take some of your own advice and be passionate. xoxo, Scarp.