Couple hundred thousand days ago someone tempted me to start a BLOG. After asking Jeeves what in the devil that was, I agreed. And, to quote Christian Bale as Michael Burry “I may have been early but I’m not wrong.”
I built an email list of thousands. Had a Facebook page, and a group… avid followers. And then one day I just put it all down. Under circumstances that weren’t dissimilar to the whack-a-mole onset of heartbreak and grief that I’ve been mucking my way through this Summer. What I’ve realized, down in the pluff mud, is that I need to write. Not so that anyone will consistently, or ever, read it. I need to write so that I can survive.
Toast of the Town, all those years ago, made me value my time. Days, nights, expenditures, adventure … all grew into a more sentient practice. And I found myself living a much more deliberate existence. So! Here I go again.
First things first: I buried the lede. The last time I popped back under this digital Big Top was to write about my struggle with (what we now know to call it) the first wave of Covid. And, in the final sentences of that extra thick magnum opus, I pitched everything I’d yet to unpack straight onto the front lawn. So I’m going to pick it up a bit more elegantly this time.
How it started:
8/17/2020 “I have been everywhere. And nowhere at all. And then I fell in LOVE and moved to Athens.”
How it’s going?
I’m still trying to figure that out. The fellow is lovely. Even on his worst days, I’m a fan! We bought a house and have been historically preserving a pink bathroom for the past four years. No clue when that will evolve into a fully functioning space but I’m as patient with it as I’ve ever been about anything. I’ve had “starter” friends and “starter” jobs. We’ve welcomed a few people into our teensy little family that we simply cannot lose. I don’t think we’ve missed a Christmas Parade. And the coming year looks pretty bright and sparkly!
But I will say this: I underestimated how difficult it would be to arrive a “new girl,” in a College town, in my forties. I’ve never been challenged, interrupted, excluded, bullied, dismissed more in my life. I’ve had to defend my intent, my personal experience, my motives, my sense of humor, and my integrity. And while none of these are new social experiences… (the time I spent in Asheville made me hyper aware that some micro-societies base a great deal of their esteem on years-in-residence) …they’re still a little soul crushing.
I've noticed that the most rewarding friendships I’ve forged, have been The Expats. People who refuse to be defined by an address, a degree, or a birthplace. And, in turn, choose to extend that generosity to everyone they meet.
So here’s the plan! I’m going to jump back into The Toast with no goal other than being successful at re-establishing a regular writing schedule. I don’t know if anyone will read it, or like it, or share it… that’s not true… I’m a thousand percent sure that nobody will share it. But the point is that I don’t really care if they do. I just want to start appealing to the muscle memory in my fingers. And see what happens.
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