The first four were basically public diaries of what I did that day (never proofread stuffed with inside jokes and random song lyrics). The Xangas morphed into poetry and short essays. Then in 2008 I decided I wanted something a little more "professional." I stopped using any place names someone could google to find me (like my college, my work, etc.) and started using pseudonyms for everyone.
For a while. this blog kept me grounded as a writer. In the past few years when writing has become more and more of my life, I rely on it less and less. It serves as a history for some of my special adventures and a weird cut-around log of some of my biggest fears, relationships, successes.
I am grateful to this lil page, which is weird because I created it. How can I be grateful for something I did? As if it's alive and has been here for me when actually I slopped the clay for it in the first place. But who am I to question thanks? Voices are important, and I've always been able to speak mine--however I wanted--here.
It's hard for me to know if 2008 Alice would be surprised by 2018 Alice or not. Interestingly, I don't think so. Every year I can't believe the progress I've made, and yet, I obviously understand it. I did it, you know? I was the one making the steps toward goals, change, whatever. And although I am sometimes amazed by my own life, it's always been inside of me. I am better but I am also the same. At 20 I wanted to work in comedy, and now I do. It took ten years, but in 2018 I got my first TV and film credits, my jokes are broadcast across the country, I met both of my 20s heroes. In fact, they know me by name. I look how I always thought I would look. I live in an apartment that, if I dug into my memory, I am sure matches the next decade daydream. There are parts of my life/me that I had never considered. I think younger me would be satisfied with those too, but sometimes I wonder if she wouldn't and I'm tethered to some stone behind me. Nothing conscious, of course.
Ten years is so many years, but it went by in a blink. I wonder how many people do the, "If I can just climb over that next month," cycle. Today I walked by an ivied wall. It was so pretty, and the sun was so warm, nothing else mattered.
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| the author, accidentally taking a photo of herself |
