Mic Check: Is This Thing On?

14 02 2019

The content of this blog is embarrassing: not this blog post, but the blog itself. I started writing when I was 18. I bought a black leather book with blank pages, and for two years I poured every fucking feeling into that thing.

After I filled up the black book, I bought a few more: one green with butterflies, one in soft red suede. Only in hindsight did I see that each book chronicles the drama of whomever I was sleeping with (the most) at any particular time. Today, I affectionately refer to these books by those same names, as if it holds some religious significance (the book of Joe, the Book of Dan, etc.).

When I was gearing up to move abroad I bought a laptop. This changed how I interacted with words and subsequently changed the reason I wrote at all. The paper books were confessions; but with a laptop and shitty Wi-Fi in Vietnam, I was able to write for an audience.

From there I got my first “real job” writing press releases and banner ads for some black-hat SEO operation. Fast-forward to 2019 and I’m working at a big ad agency in Denver.

I’m lucky to work in a creative space that appreciates my journey to write professional media. But I rarely write for myself anymore, and what’s worse, I’ve become recluse with my inky feelings, the very thing that pushed me to write at all.

Since I started this blog, new platforms have proliferated to help everyone, not just bloggers, share experiences, feelings, and ideas.

I’m happy to see my friends getting married, having children, and traveling, and then getting married again, and maybe rescuing a dog or getting boob job—I CAN’T TELL YOU HOW MUCH I LOVE IT!

But there’s a lot of stuff on there I don’t like, and it’s mostly everyone’s opinions. As others became emboldened to share their thoughts online, I slipped out the emergency exit hoping not to see anyone I knew on the way out.

So, I don’t write anything creative, and subsequently, I don’t post on this blog either. And this hurts me. It hurts me because I have a lot to say about a lot of things. But sometimes, I don’t say it right the first time.

An opinion is a fully formed idea, not an involuntary reaction to a post on social media and most certainly not presented in a way that’s more combative than what’s otherwise acceptable in real conversation.

I want to be more open with my words and feelings—I’m more able to do that now. I am, in fact, a much better writer at age 32.

But I also kind of hate you, anonymous troll. So, depending on how things play out, I may just go back to paper.






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