The content of my blog has evolved dramatically since its inception. I initially started blogging in 2006 as a beta tester for a popular wedding website. The site wanted to determine whether blogs would catch the interest of overeager brides who already loved the site's message boards.
And, of course, wedding blogs gained popularity. Everything catches the interest of overeager brides. We're idiots that way.
Beta testing ran its course, and I wasn't a bride anymore. Just a wife. Boring wife.
I continued to write anyway. That's my thing. I write. It's not particularly artful or pretty or moving, but I write. I write because I can.
I moved the blog off the wedding website and chronicled my daily activities, no matter how mundane. I wrote about TV. I wrote about work. I wrote about people. I wrote about hopes. I wrote about frustrations. I wrote about feelings. I was very open. Sometimes too honest. Sometimes unkind.
All this bit me in the ass. Hard.
Longtime readers have noticed the transformation, I'm sure. I rarely publish posts with only text anymore. I no longer feel comfortable sharing my unadulterated thoughts. As delighted as any blogger is with astronomical hits, I feel odd about full exposure of who I am now.
And, again, there was that ass-biting incident.
You are what you eat. I suppose photos of what I eat are close to who I am.
Don't get me wrong -- I love the food. That's why I write about it so much. But that's not how all this began.
I sit here tonight, contemplating what I've done with my life, the paths I didn't take, and the choices I wish I hadn't made. I wonder what could've been. I wonder if I'd be happier in a different place. I read about people I know, people very much like me. I see what they're doing. I marvel at their creative pursuits. I get jealous.
It's a common theme that has followed me my entire life. I dream of things. The dreams are fleeting. Pragmatism swoops in and crushes those dreams. Pragmatism always rules the day. Pragmatism landed me here.
My brother and I were discussing birth order recently, and he remarked that the eldest sibling is usually the most responsible. Cursed birth order.
But, more than anything, I think it is fear.
I am not unhappy. I love and am loved by a select few. I like and am liked by a good handful. I am healthy. I am employed. I even have great teeth.
Yet something is missing.