I’m feeling disturbed researching cults all day for a writing project so I thought, what better time to catch up with my WordPress community? Okay, that is about the lamest, most awkward line I’ve ever opened with here, but the mind works in mysterious ways. If being disturbed is the emotion that spurs me to come and say “hello” on WP for the first time in 2019, so be it. I’m considerably frightened at the moment, how are y’all doin’?
I only wrote thirty posts last year. Compared to a hundred approximately the year before, and with an all-time high of about three hundred in 2015, you can assume I’ve fallen out of love with WordPress. It doesn’t do for me what it used to, and if it weren’t for stephen1001’s weekly music quiz, I wouldn’t have had much use for the WordPress app on my phone at all. I feel slight paranoia in admitting this, but the good people at WordPress are not a cult, and will not hopefully object to my unpleasant honesty. However.
I don’t think I have fallen out of love with WordPress. Or this particular blog.
Nor do I believe it can’t do what it used to do for me.
I don’t think I’ve ever given the potential of having such an online writing community a fair shot. Even in my heydays here. I haven’t done the work, explored all avenues and resources in which this could work for me. Even when I put it on my resume, because that is the sort of thing people do if they have a solid thing going, I could sense my heightened insecurity when talking about it. It wasn’t the medium. It was my writing itself.
Yeah, but that’s not catching up, is it? C’mon Amrita, where’s the part where you relate to us yet another incident when you have your foot in your mouth? That’s why we tune in, you know, to see our favourite joke, for you are it. There’s this way English teachers talk about Shakespeare – there are the tragedies, there are the comedies, some of them are tragicomedies, and by the way, the history plays are tragedies too. And while I do believe that there are some tragedies from which we can elicit no humour, the best comedy is always rooted in the tragic. If pain wasn’t involved, you just wouldn’t laugh at the banana skin slipper.
I’m not saying I’ve lost my sense of humour about myself and so haven’t dropped by. When people were reflecting on their year in December, I did not want to look back even a couple of days because that last month itself was so wretched. And I mean staying under your blanket and not just for the cold kind of wretched. And I couldn’t feel that sense of “re-make/re-model” people feel at the beginning of a new year. I was buried under work for one thing, and it felt like good stress because I didn’t want to think.
And now that I’ve depressed you enough (always deflecting after asking for just enough sympathy, eh?) you might still say, decent human being that you are, well, what do you want to do, Amrita? What will the blog be in 2019? I don’t know. Despite my Zen approach to life, I am a bit of a planner. List-maker. Expector. Strategist. I could do a good job of managing things, as long as it did not involve myself. With myself, it’s almost a comfort I don’t know, for being a realist doesn’t help.
I could plan and list and strategize. Or I could drop by on a whim, which is what I did in 2017. I’m sure I could have new, exciting things to talk about. To question and explore. I believe in curiosity. In questioning. I believe there is no one and nothing whose validity you cannot question. I think more about my toothache than my spirit, and the former probably has more influence on my thoughts and feelings than the latter. Certainty, complacency and stagnancy are the things I fear. There’s a virtue in being fickle, in picking up and absorbing things and moving on once it no longer works for me. Because, it protects me from potentially enforcing ideas on others as a way to not question them myself. For whatever brings a sense of security must be good, isn’t it so?
And yet, change, the ability to discard whatever doesn’t work is the hardest thing to do in the world. Moving house, changing jobs, leaving partners scare you, because you have to consider the possibility that though it may not work for you at the moment, it might be worse if you change. We’re told to hope for the best, but as realists, we have to accept that it is likely to get worse. You are living your future, and it isn’t as ideal as you thought it would be. What guarantees it won’t be so for the future that is to come?
And there is no gaurantee. Of anything. It might all be a hoax, or worse, it might all be true. Here’s to exploring some of those things in the next eleven months and seven days.
In the famous words of Joey Tribbiani, how you doin’?