Welcome to my blog. Take a seat. Pour yourself a tea. Put your feet up on my coffee table. Wait—put your pants back on… We’re not getting that comfortable together.
I first started blogging in 2004.
Back then, there was no Facebook or Twitter, and blogging was known as “Talking smack ’bout yo’self on the interwebz.” (Not really. Nobody ever said that except me, just now, regrettably.) However, like a tree falling in empty woods, there was nobody there to hear it.
When I took off travelling for the first time, I began a simple website as a way to share stories and pictures with friends and family, and—most importantly—to reassure my mother that I was not dead. Turns out that’s called a “blog.” And so I became a blogger.
This is my ninth year of blogging about my life. I’m not sure if that’s an accomplishment worthy of an award, or a level of chronic narcissism that’s worthy of psychotherapy. Probably both.
Either way, it has been fun. Big things have happened. I wrote a book. I’ve angered some people. I’ve met some generous, inspiring, and downright lovely folks in this here cyber world, like Liz Gilbert:
One more thing:
I’ve been told that I write like a man. I don’t know what that means, but it could have something to do with my gratuitous use of the word “balls.” My parents taught me that it’s okay to swear as long as you’re using language consciously. That said, my mother once grabbed a pair of goat’s testicles at a children’s petting zoo and yelled out: “I wonder how much these weigh?” So yeah, maybe I was just overexposed to balls.
Anyway, my point: if you can’t stand the occasional bleeeeep, then click that little X in the top left corner of this page and go Google some unicorns. (Spoiler: Unicorns have balls!)
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