A few days ago I was stuck in traffic, alone with my thoughts, and switching between my favorite “hip hop” station and my favorite “alternative rock” station. I was driving at 15 mph, contemplating my life to the soundtrack of Drake and Twenty One Pilots. I reached the 17th dead stop of my commute and texted two of my friends, “I’ve been stuck in traffic for 46 minutes and I’ve decided I’m finally going to start a blog, even if my mom is the only one who reads it.” They both texted back saying they would read it, so they’re to blame for all this. I would also like to note that when I texted my mom and sister asking for suggestions on what to call my blog, my mom suggested I call it “Why Did I Start a Blog?” I was obviously mistaken in thinking she would be a fan, but I do have an answer to the question.
I love blogs. It’s really a wonder I’ve ever been productive since discovering the blogosphere. Cooking blogs, fashion blogs, fitness blogs (the three pillars of basic bitch blogging), plus travel, career, literary, and all Gawker blogs (no shame), I’ve been soaking up other people’s thoughts, opinions, and lifestyle tips for a while now. I know enough about blogging to know that I am way too lazy to create and maintain a “successful” blog. I’m also too late to the party to expect to make money or become internet famous. If you’re looking for focus, cohesiveness, an awesome web design, and incredible photography, you are in the wrong place. I’m just here to share thoughts and stories with my people in a way that is more efficient than my usual method of copying and pasting content in various group texts and emails.
I just have a lot of thoughts. I don’t think I’ve ever run out of things to talk about, stories to tell, or questions to ask. When I was six my grandparents, who were visiting from Israel, took me on a road trip from New Jersey up to Niagara Falls. When they brought me home they told my parents that I did not stop talking the entire trip. Twenty years later, I was telling my husband a story while I was brushing my teeth and he turned to me and asked, “What percentage of our time together do you think is you talking?”
At least you can choose whether or not to read this. My dear grandparents and patient husband really were not and are not as lucky.
Thanks for reading. Good luck!