Many people have written a great deal about blogging, and its social impact, and the virtues and vices of the medium. They’ve written a great deal about efforts to preserve the web, and what’s written on blogs is by its nature archived and filed away into a little library of whatever it is that’s come out of your head. Some things need to be preserved. But if you’re like me, having thrown away more than one old journal or notebook of ideas once thought to be profound, just because it’s been written doesn’t always necessarily mean it needs to be read.
So in the spirit of embracing the impermanence of this medium, I’m unabashedly starting over. When I asked myself why I was treating this space like the middle child I never really loved, it wasn’t the design or the domain name or the interestingness of my life that made me not want to blog. It was the feeling of being connected to the detritus of my brain over the past four years. Any new idea I had was linked and archived next to all of the highest highs and the (really really lowest) lowest lows. While we’re each the product of what’s come before, I prefer to imagine the past like hazy memories that blend together as your brain ages — and less like evidence stored in a locker.
With that out of the way, welcome back.