really me

The truth is, I can’t decide how forthcoming I like to be here.

In writing and in life, equally, I strive for authenticity. I try not to posture, to make things look better or worse than they are, to manufacture a written or visual self that is too far from what I see in the mirror and what goes on in my head.

I don’t want to spend a lot of time or energy trying to be somebody else.

However, I am starting to believe that who I am is a person with a lot of embarrassing habits, flaws, and insecurities that I’d rather not admit to anyone, much less the general public of the internet.

So if I am not interested in writing without authenticity but I am also not interested in “airing my dirty laundry,” then what does that leave me with?

A lot of time spent thinking about things but not a lot of time writing about things.

I will tell you this:

This is the time of year – these precious few weeks between semesters – that the hard work has to be done. I have two weeks to squeeze in my last summer activities, to clear my slate for Fall, to make decisions about how I want to spend the next four months of my life.

I might seem like a girl who just Makes Plans and then forgets about them.

That isn’t entirely accurate.

I am a girl who Makes Plans and Tries Really Hard and then Usually Fails.

I am usually okay with that. I really am. When I abandon yet another schedule or planner for something better, I don’t get discouraged. I recognize that the planning itself is therapeutic and sometimes I find myself in need of a geeky old spreadsheet I made 4 or 5 years ago and am glad I have a chest of different tools to get my brain straight. When I lose interest in yet another attempt to overhaul my health and eating, I notice the small, effortless changes that I learned in even a short period of time: I can now eyeball a tablespoon of salad dressing, I now eat cereal from the smaller bowl, I figured out how to enjoy vegetables for breakfast, I can drink coffee without sugar. Even if I didn’t succeed in my goals, I am usually better for the trying.

But I’m not okay with writing about my failures.

So in order to maintain my feeling of authenticity, I get blog-shy about certain topics, I make lists but never tell you what happened.

I don’t want you to know how deeply self-involved I am, how intensely I scrutinize myself and my life, how upset I get when things don’t go well. How constant life-revision is Me on a Good Day and exhausted blitheness and despair is Me on a Bad Day and me not saying anything is Me Just Trying to Figure Out Any One Single Thing.

So that’s where I’m at.

Making plans I might not stick to, making decisions I might not like, making believe I can maintain some semblance of control over the tiny sliver of the universe that is me and my little life.


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