Starting a new blog after five years at my old one has proven to be much more daunting a proposition than I’d expected, and not just because WordPress is only slightly easier to figure out than, say, the space shuttle.  I’ve been staring into the empty post editor for weeks now, trying to create some kind of segue to bridge the gap between my comfortable-but-worn blog, and this vast new empty space. 

I was telling a friend that I think there’s a tendency to get stuck in other people’s ideas of who we are, to play the roles assigned to us even if we’ve outgrown them, or if they never suited us to begin with.  People preferred the jagged, wildly discontented person I was when I started blogging, and they began to mistake my self-deprecation as an invitation to be overly familiar. 

There developed an expectation of ranting misery and bumbling awkward chaos, but my inclination to meet those expectations waned, owing partly to the fact that whatever truth exists in those things, it’s only a part of myself – and not a part I feel so much like focusing on these days – and partly to the fact that I have a few people who understood as much without being told, and without being disappointed or confused.  And the less they needed to be told, the more I wanted to tell them.

Trying to haul myself over the edge of my rut and express it to a wider audience has been somewhat of a challenge.  I’m rising to it slowly, I suppose, but there’s no rush, either, is there?