It’s been a long time since I’ve posted, but I want to start writing more. I stopped several months ago, and also stopped journaling for the most part. Journaling and blogging, for many months, felt too much like self justification, so I stopped doing them both for a while. I did not want to try to argue a point, even to myself. For one thing, I did not want to be wrong. But in another way, I was tired of feeling like I was right. Whenever I tried to sort things out in a way that I was right, whenever I felt justified by my own standards, I often reconsidered later, and reversed some or most of what I was feeling superior over. However, in the original process of self justification, I realized I was kind of an asshole to people I cared about. So I stopped writing for a bit. Even privately.

So I stopped writing to myself, stopped building these long pieces of writing in which I always came out as the most calm, the most collected, the most right person in the room. I could not bring myself to do it for a while.

But I’m back for now. You may be wondering why.

I want to tell stories, and that’s what this blog may morph into. I don’t want to just be a writer, and I’ve been fascinated with the intersect between photography and writing for a long time. That’s why I started this blog- I like to write things that compliment photos. It takes writing a lot to be a decent writer, so that’s why I want to keep at it with this blog. I want to write without the fear of it being good enough, keep at it, not fearing loss and without the expectation of gain, but do it because I find it to be a skill worth developing, and something worth pursuing.

I’m going to say, briefly, the strange contrast between intentions and forms, because I think this was one hang-up I had for a while. Last semester I made a lot of really, really depressing work. You probably wouldn’t know it just by looking at it, in most cases, but over the course of the semester I was becoming really run down without much direction or understanding to really turn things around, and my work reflected that. In a lot of ways, I was really working just for the sake of working, and I produced a lot of stuff that I really like the form of, but probably not for the right reasons.

I don’t think this abdicates me from considering the intentions of things that I do, but it’s struck me, in many ways I’ve found it’s better that I work intentionally and intuitively, keep working and working and if the reasons are wrong, trust that they can be straightened out with correction, suggestion, and encouragement from friends.

Of course, I also write with the expectation that not many will read, and that’s fine too.

So, stories.

Stories, for me, are fun to imagine, fun to read. Looking back at a lot of my older work, what’s fun for me to consider is what may have happened in the space. It’s also fun to consider why I’m there, or how it might be strange that I’m standing where I am. I wonder if I’m the first to have walked somewhere, or if not, who before me? Who’s next? How many thousands of people have been in this particular place before me? What were they thinking?

Stories pull me out of myself nicely. They necessarily are another’s experiences, or they’re a version of my own experiences fictionalized in order to see it from a more detached perspective.

A good friend of mine from high school once told me the best way to move on from a situation in your life is to turn it into a story. Perhaps it’s not the best way, but I do like the advice. It beats the hell out of another approach of mine, sulking until the sulking seems more ridiculous than soothing. While the latter is effective, I feel the former is far more constructive, at least more interesting.

So, from herein I’ll try to update this blog a lot more. It’ll be some write-ups of projects, some actual pieces (meant to exist as combination of text and image, sometimes even within the blog context), some ramblings posts like this, but I’ll try to write more. I write more with the hope of not guarding my thoughts or self justifying, but writing because I know my worth but also know my capacity for being wrong (and sometimes right, maybe), regardless of how carefully I write or think. There is ultimately grave peril in retreating inside myself rather than writing and connecting with others free from the crippling fear of failure.

Writing is also nice because I’ve recently deactivated my Facebook, and blogging is a fun exercise in casting my thoughts out to the internet without the heroin-like instant gratification of seeing my friends “Like”ing it within minutes. But, maybe more on that later. That’s all for now!


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