Maybe I'll Start a Blog

In an effort to cleanse the ol’ mind, body, and spirit as we exit this trash fire year, I’m embarking on a run streak now through 1/1/21. That means running at least a mile a day, every single day. These are the literal darkest days of a metaphorically dark year and it would be very easy to succumb to the desire to spend them under a blanket, doomscrolling and eating mediocre store-bought baked goods. I’m not going to promise I won’t be doing a lot of that, too, but I know from experience that I will feel better if I go out in the cold and raise my heart rate regularly even when I really think I don’t want to. I miss run club and actual races. But one upside of winter is that when it’s cold, Brit will run with me, as she did today. She’s less interested in the running part and more interested in the opportunities to sniff, roll, and scavenge for snacks. Today she found what appeared to be half of a boiled potato and a hot dog bun, so it was basically her thanksgiving.

When I was a kid, we went to my uncle’s house for Thanksgiving every year, which was pretty cool because he was the caretaker of a 4H camp. It was deserted in November, so we had free run of the place. We’d explore the stables, skip stones on the pond, try to get into the cabins (usually locked) and the mess hall (inexplicably not locked). We learned how to drive by being turned loose with the minivan on the one long road through the property. And we ate pie. Real Norman Rockwell stuff. I say all this to illustrate that I understand why a lot of Americans have warm fuzzies about Thanksgiving and tradition. I do, too. But it is just a day. There isn’t any law of nature that makes turkey and pie and family unavailable to you on days other than the third Thursday in November. If there were no end in sight for the pandemic, I’d understand why so many otherwise conscientious people are doing Thanksgiving travel and in-person gatherings. But there are vaccines on the horizon. Yes, it’s goi...

I finally decided to create a second Instagram (and by extension, this old school blog). Because: My other account is sort of professional but I am a social media oversharer at heart which means it sometimes becomes personal or just kind of weird. And I think that’s fine to a point but I do want to be connected to people in my industry without necessarily foisting my every thought or feeling into their feeds. I just got a new phone with a much better camera which means I’ll probably be talking a lot of goofy photos—portrait mode photos of my dog’s snoot, for example—and maybe I don’t need those to be on what is a de facto portfolio for my side hustle. Look, friends. We’re headed into a long, dark, and isolated winter. I live alone, the pandemic rages on, and my therapist is on maternity leave until spring. I think I might want an outlet for my thoughts. Thus the name of this account: this is my roaring 20s version of a c. 2002 personal blog, but with a character limit. S...