What even is a blog anymore?

Wowee, I’ve taken a break from blogging so long I don’t even know if it exists as a form of expression anymore. The last post I wrote was in the moments after the words ‘me too’  began popping up on people’s Facebook news feeds – before Time’s Up, Colin Kaepernick’s infamous kneel and kids popping tidepods in their mouths – the list goes on with times the internet and humanity went crazy in my absence.

Blogging has never been something I’ve become accustomed to doing regularly (duuuh, see above). And I never, ever assume anyone but me reads these words (is anybody out there? can anybody find me… somebody to love?).

Yet as I was contemplating, for the hundredth time this month, what to do with the rest of my life, I began to re-read a job search book I’ve found solace in before (What Color is Your Parachute) and the idea of a Google search came up.

Deep into my search, I found an old travel blog I’d written as a blue-eyed and not-yet-jaded-by-life-and-journalism version of me. What a refreshing read! Despite the cringe-worthy spelling (come on girl, the world ‘definitely’ is not that hard to get right), some politically incorrect phrasing à la 2005 and plenty of questionable life choices, it was amazing to hear what a young and eager me sounded like. Especially because I’ve felt like a shell of myself in the past few years.

The early 30s are hitting me like a ton of bricks, but more on that later. For now, check out my description of my mugging in Barcelona’s historic district where I ran after my mugger screaming obscenities before being hampered in my efforts to catch him by those obscene things I used to wear called heels.

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Ahhh 2006 in Spain, when Red Bull was the drink of choice and one could light up a cigarette indoors. This is me and a lovely life-long friend I met in Barcelona, on the night I was robbed by a man with a stick in the historic district. 

 

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