starting to paddle

I've been thinking about blogging, and the grand ol' blogosphere, and my history in said blogosphere (I do this often... probably too often really), and I realized that right now I feel so regular-old-me in the best possible way.  For the first time in a really long time, I don't feel like I'm striving, or worrying, or pressured.  I just saw a twitter avatar of a cute girl with cotton candy pink hair and a pink background and I realized that I was just glad I was comfortable being myself, rather than feeling like I needed to be something specific for the blogosphere.  I thought she looked amazing, but I didn't want to look like her or be her.  Even though I've always tried my best to be myself, it can be hard not to want to be all the amazing things and people you encounter online.  It's hard to appreciate things without wanting them or wanting to be them.  There are so many inspiring people, so much interesting content, that it can be really easy to lose your own voice and self in midst of the whirlwind of influence online.  I've stuck my foot in a lot of those influences, and sometimes it can be a good thing, especially when you're trying to figure out where you belong in the grand scheme of things.  I've tried being more like all sorts of different bloggers.  Rebecca from A Clothes Horse,  Tieka from Selective Potential, Elsie from A Beautiful Mess, Camille from Camille Styles.  In some ways emulation can help hone your skills, I know my love of food photography was something directly influenced by food blogs, and I became a much better food photographer because I wanted to emulate those food photos which were much better than mine were.  It's a hard line to walk between being inspired and losing yourself, though.


Perhaps it's because I slowed down the blogging pace starting in January.  I feel like I stepped out of the rat race river with it's unrelenting current and have been happily enjoying walking along the shore, enjoying the beauty of the forest through which that river is barreling.  The other night I decided to do a brainstorm for blog post ideas and after 30 minutes and even perusing blog post suggestions on google, I only had about 5 or 6 ideas.  But this post wasn't one of those ideas and neither was my last couple posts, so I suppose the inspiration is there hiding in the crevasses of my brain, just waiting to be triggered.  Writing authentically isn't always something that can be boiled down to a blog post idea list.

I'm glad that I don't feel like I have to post the content everyone else is churning out.  I'm glad that I feel comfortable with who I am and where I am and what I'm doing, even if I'm still restless sometimes.  I'm glad I can appreciate other blogs without feeling like I constantly have to evaluate whether I should be doing something they're doing.  I'm glad I wear leggings and a flannel with no bra most days.  I'm glad Delightfully Tacky is still just a one-woman operation, with no big team of contributors and photographers and stylists (even though some days I wish it was).  I'm glad I have no desire to go to NYFW runway shows anymore.  Not because any of those things are bad, it's just that they aren't me.  I am hair that hasn't been washed in 5 days.  I'm last night's smudged eyeliner.  I'm paint crusted fingers.  I'm three cups of black coffee.  I'm calloused rock climber hands.  I'm downward dog.  I'm piles of clothes on the floor.  I'm corgi snuggles.  I'm late night walks to bars with Dan.  I'm well whisky and ginger beer.  I'm too many un-answered emails.  I'm half-finished DIY projects.  I'm hat hair.  I'm too many ideas for my brain to contain.

Sometimes I'm afraid I get repetitive her on the blog, talking about the same issues, or rehashing the same thoughts over and over.  But that's how life goes.  I get stuck on one thing or another.  Thoughts form cyclical paths, crossing over one another now and then.  More than anything I think I'm just glad to feel like maybe, just maybe, I feel like life has a trajectory right now and I'd like to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible.  So much of life has felt adrift in a shoreless ocean with no wind to direct sails, and no sign as to which direction to paddle towards.  But I think.... maybe I see a lighthouse, and it feels like I might finally feel comfortable starting to sink my oars into the waves.