Back to work. Back to 6am starts and coffee, coffee, coffee until I’m half-human again. Ah, the average 9-5 lifestyle.
Without the seemingly endless lists of wedding-related tasks, frantic phone calls and emails, average life feels pretty great.
The only thing I have going on in the background (apart from all my Christmas shopping) is this blog.
I don’t know what this blog is going to be about.
I keep looping back to the subject of my last post… “So what now?” which still seems very apt.
What am I going to write about?
Only a few months after leaving my writing job, quitting my memoir (and my Master’s) I had itchy fingers. I wanted to write… something.
A blog seemed harmless enough. Perhaps I’d write about my failed memoir, or the various attempted careers that never came to pass?
For most of my adult life, I’ve wandered down a few paths that weren’t right for me. Quite a few paths, as it turns out.
Now I’m trying to get comfortable with the fact that I am none of the people I once thought I wanted to be. Instead, I’m grappling with the ropes of self-acceptance.
So far, it looks like I’m going to have to accept myself as a coffee-guzzling nomad.
But I can’t really write about that.
I considered writing about everything I watch on Netflix, but I don’t fancy myself as much of a reviewer (and I can’t think anyone would be too interested in reading about my experiences lying in my PJs watching TV).
Most of the things I like to do are a little on the sedentary/introvert end of the hobby spectrum (if such a thing exists).
Eating. Eating is probably one of my favourite things to do. I couldn’t describe myself as a ‘foodie’, though. For one thing, I don’t really know anything about food.
I mean, I like eating. I like good food, but I also like… not good food.
What I’m saying is that I appreciate fancy five-star restaurant food, but I also love a good bowl of super noodles.
Sleeping also ranks pretty highly on the list, but it’s tricky to write much on the topic of napping.
With all that in mind, you could say that my life was pretty unremarkable.
The things is, now that I’ve stopped trying so hard to be an overnight success in fields I’m not really interested in, I’ve learned to appreciate things in a whole new way.
I might even go so far as to say I’m actually pretty happy.
But back to the problem at hand.
What does an unsuccessful, unremarkable person (such as myself) write about?