The Broad Running Broad

I want to call back to my last post on November 20th. I’m a firm believer in honoring wherever I am at the moment when I upload on here, even if I’ve done a 180 on my thoughts/feelings. As a result I don’t delete posts, but I might go back and clarify some comments if I don’t think they were well-written earlier.

Candidly, re-reading that last post (and wondering why I thought that title was a good idea), I made a few comments that I’m cringing at. The comments: “age and a psychological shift have kicked in” to explain “…I’ve shifted to being an open book to a somewhat open to now feeling redundant and not really being in the mood to talk or write or share on social media. I just … don’t care anymore.”

Reading over that sounds like something ominous was going on in real life. Aside from moving and the stress of packing-moving-unpacking, things were and still are well and peaceful here. I’ve settled in, bought some houseplants and Marina has discovered zoomies are more fun on laminated floors. Slowly but surely my new home is transforming into the oasis Child Allison could only imagine.

Now to explain myself, as promised.

I love writing and my modest following on here, and I know that part of growing a following is to write about issues and challenges we all can relate to. However, it’s a fine line between speaking candidly on relevant challenges and sharing enough details to make the story worth reading, versus fileting myself open for the sake of generating traffic. Being in my 30s has caused the shift from being very open to somewhat open, since I’ve now been alive long enough to see some real-time horrifying examples of social media “transparency” going haywire.

For example, half of the stuff unhappily married people with kids think to announce about their families as a reel on Instagram.

We all remember that one kid who had to be the center of attention at all costs, the one who would cry at another kid’s birthday party if they couldn’t have the biggest slice of cake or “help” unwrap the guest of honor’s presents? Any attention is sufficient, and the scornful glares seems to invigorate them more than any flattering praise.

Unfortunately, those grown kids are a dime a dozen everywhere. Maybe oversharing and getting into arguments in the comments section feeds a basic need that got abandoned at some point. But frankly, at my big age of 32, “there’s no such thing as bad press” attention-seeking (which is what shameless oversharing is, if you want to get down to it) screams desperate, tacky and embarrassing.

Blogging may only be a creative weekend hobby, but it’s still my name on here, and I don’t want to be some hack who can’t tell the difference between a personal story that’s got value in sharing versus “good God, TMI, woman!” desperation. So if I’m ever in doubt and having the “can you but should you” debate with myself, I’ll log off for a bit and brainstorm which direction I want to go on here.

But now I am back. And I discovered I’ve got a lot to say and some stories I still want to share, with a commitment to keep it classy 90% of the time. The 10% is for the next time I come across something goofy that I gotta tell you all about. You didn’t think I was going to throw out all the sauce and serve you plain spaghetti all day every day, did you?

So, this is the note I’m ending 2023 on.

Every month this year I had something going on. January and February were marked by studying for my life and health license, and passing that exam by the skin of my teeth. In March I found out I was getting laid off from OldJob, and in May I started at CurrentJob. During the 60 day inactive period I focused on training so job searching wouldn’t be the death of me, and I ran three half marathons, adding two new states to my runcation travels.

Then this summer it was training for the Columbus when I wasn’t apartment searching and getting ready for the move. I raced in September and October, then in November said good bye to the southeast side and moved up north. That eight-year story had a lot of chapters in it, and it was finally time to start writing a new book. As well as take some time to rest and emotionally recover from the realization I had more tchotchkes in my old place than what a single person should ever own.

December has been a time of looking ahead. While my birthday and Christmas were lovely, my brain has been so focused on the professional, personal and athletic growth I can feel coming in the new year.

So here we are, 2023. Literally 1-2-3, 1-2-3, which now leaves me with the mental picture of Maddie Ziegler dancing in the “Chandelier” music video. 1-2-3, 1-2-3, a busy but transformative year coming to a close. I’m peaceful and optimistic within myself and excited for the future, for all the growth and progress that is coming my way. And the festive sugar cookie I picked up at The Fat Girl Bakery. I’m pretty excited for that cookie tonight, since I don’t drink but still want to turn up in a seasonally appropriate way.

Happy New Year, Reader-friends!

Allison