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.