My brother’s college professor encouraged his students to begin a blog. LiveJournal, BlogSpot, WordPress…power up your iBook, find the site that works for you and create an account.
So he did.
Jordan started a WordPress blog, called it “Innocence, In a Sense” and practiced his writing. (This is why Jordan is WAY smarter than I am; I just now realized how clever his title was. I’m a year older now than he was when he started his blog.)
Fourteen-year-old Emily wrote poetry.
Fourteen-year-old Emily idolized Jordan.
Fourteen-year-old Emily wanted to blog, too.
Following in Jordan’s too-big-to-fill footsteps, 14-year-old Emily became “Blackbyrd” and started writing about stupid shit. Stupid shit that, at the time, seemed relevant and important. Stupid shit that is, of course, entirely too fun to look back on now.
To go with the theme here, I wrote 14 posts this month six years ago. Fourteen. Now any number over five is an accomplishment because – and you’ve heard me say this before – writing on my blog takes me forever.
Now I put in 43 hours a week at my very corporate summer job. In 2008? Work had no relevance. With food on the table and a pool to swim in on the hotter days, I spent my time reading and, I guess, posting on my blog. Excessively, I daresay.
Twenty-year-old Emily still writes poetry. (She actually slams it, too.)
Twenty-year-old Emily still idolizes Jordan.
Twenty-year-old Emily still wants to blog and tries to as often as she can, but, after actually learning how to write, posting takes her a lot longer than it used to.
Twenty-year-old Emily lives on her own and provides for herself.
Twenty-year-old Emily is fully aware of her upcoming career search, apartment search, friend search, life search.
Still, twenty-year-old Emily couldn’t believe it when this notification popped up when she logged into WordPress today: