I had the thought that I should start these posts off with something like “Dear Diary,” but a diary is supposed to be private and this certainly isn’t. So then I thought something like “Dear Blog-ary, Dia-og…” but that’s just ridiculous. And “Dear Reader” seems arrogant – because there may not be a reader, maybe it should be a diary… maybe I’m writing into the abyss of the internet fulfilling some strange generational need to feel important and be heard… *insert nervous laughter here*
Let’s start over.
I’m starting a blog as a challenge to myself to write something everyday. I’m doing this for a couple of reasons all stemming from recent events in my life that have left me slightly directionless at an age where I feel like I should have a direction. So I’m writing a blog to prove to myself I can follow through with something, to give my very bored brain an intellectual outlet, and to vent about struggles that I desperately hope are relatively universal at my age.
I debated long and hard (and by that I mean I thought about this between the hours of 11pm and 2am while I lay awake) about whether to keep this private, hide my own identity and circumstances to only write in vague terms about general thoughts. But that felt like the easy way. So here’s the story, and probably the longest post in the series:
My husband and I have been together for 6.5 years. We met in college and fell in love, I’d say the rest is history but that brushes over the years of bad puns, undrinkable water, awkward moments and laughter we’ve been through. But that’s a post for another time.
The important things to know right now are that; we are married, we have no children (though we do have a dog that we love more than we should) and we are in our late twenties. Recently, my husband joined the ranks of the Ivy League as a PhD student in Archaeology and we were faced with the hard, middle class decision, about whether pursue our careers in two different states, or one of us would have to sacrifice it all. That sounds super dramatic but basically we were faced with three options:
- I sacrifice my career
- He sacrifices his
- We sacrifice time together
We spent a lot of time trying to figure this out – hours and hours of debate, resentment and compromise. We finally decided on option three. And we lived apart while pursuing separate careers.
It sucked, serious full-out misery.
We don’t regret the decision – but we finally decided it wasn’t going to last. So I quit the job I wanted to love but actually hated with a passion that burned like a fire of a thousand suns… packed up the pup and our artwork to head to the unknown: the wilds of the East Coast and the 300 square foot studio apartment we now share.
I don’t like to say I moved for a man, because it implies that I had no say in the matter; but I did move for my marriage. Which means that currently, I’m jobless, directionless, friendless and weirdly happy. So, here is my solution. I will write everyday as a way to expel some intellectual energy.
And hopefully soon I will get hired into my dream job (though I don’t know what that is) and my posts will be shorter because I won’t have time for this frivolity…
But until then, Happy Reading!