So today marks two years since my very first blog post.

Of course the site itself is older — this baby was born in August 2005. So I’d actually been publishing articles and putting out a regular email noozletter for years.

But this was the day I really, truly moved my writing online.

And it was terrifying. And took me months of agonizing to start.

Here we are.

Five hundred and sixty seven posts later.

Yes, you are correct. That is kind of insane.


I just re-read my first post and only cringed about seventeen times. Which is good, because it means the thing that I wanted to happen happened:

I got comfortable here. Eventually.

More about that.

Stuff I’ve gotten from having this space:

Okay, so I still sometimes find myself with a shaky finger hovering over the pooblish button.

Yes. Pressing the pooblish is the scary.

But those moments are more rare now. Maybe once every couple weeks instead of every single day. Usually I’ll just write a piece and be done with it.

Having the blog has given me a daily writing practice. I don’t post everything I write. Some of it is just for me.

But there’s a commitment there.

Also, I miss you guys when I’m not here.

The things I love about blogging:

It’s a safe way to spend time with Tinkerbell Writer Me without having to think of it as “writing”.

Cheapest therapy ever.

It’s a way to practice Very Interior Design.

And to learn about boundaries.

It teaches you how to make clear requests for what you want. And to clearly explain what you don’t want.

The way personal rituals can become group rituals. Which makes them just that much more powerful.

It warms my heart to read about everything the Chickeneers of the High Seas go through during their week, and the things they share with each other on Fridays. Same goes for the Very Personal Ad collective that meets here on Sundays.

Also I like watching what happens when you create a really, really safe space.

Because it will always surprise you.

My commenter mice have become friends with each other, started blogs, found writing partners, visited each other, bought each other’s stuff, invented rituals and found surprising ways to support each other.

It is the most beautiful thing.

The things I still have trouble with about blogging:

Trying not to let it become the biggest should in the entire world.

Trying not to care so much.

The fact that people who know me in real life sometimes read this.

Learning the hard way what kind of stuff I need to put in the comment zen section. Though asking people not to give advice or try to fix my problems knocks out about 99% of Things That Set Off My Stuff.

The one thing I absolutely cannot stand:

When people say, “Wow, your writing has really improved.”

Here’s what I want to say: “I’m sorry, are you T.S. Eliot? Did the nobel laureate commission leave you in charge of determining whose writing is good? I don’t believe I asked you to give judgment on my creative process. Go. Away.”

Here’s what I actually say: “Uh, okay.”

I get that it’s meant to be nice. And I don’t care. Not useful.

Useful things I’ve learned:

Not as many people will think you’re as crazy as you are imagining they will.

Even the posts that I’ve thought are stupid and pointless have helped someone.

Actually, those stupid-and-pointless posts get a lot more thank you for saying this responses than the ones I personally think are brilliant.

There is so much kindness.

Total strangers have the capacity to be genuinely happy for me. And I can be genuinely happy for them.

You don’t need to have a “topic”. Seriously.

I’ve written about living in Berlin and throwing shoes and my friend who is dead.

About monsters and iguanas and chickens and the Greek chorus in my arms.

About self-help-ey stuff and business stuff and mindfulness stuff and yoga stuff and falling-apart stuff.

About sponsoring roller derby and building a Playground and going on a picnic with Metaphor Mouse.

Somehow it all works.

Some thank yous:

To Kelly, again, for making me start.

To Selma for being my muse and my companion.

To my gentleman friend for reading every single one of my posts — and making most of them better.

To my friends at the Twitter bar, for being welcoming and hilarious.

To Akismet for blocking nearly fifty thousand spam comments. I checked. Awesome.

To everyone who reads.

To all the commenter mice and the Beloved Lurkers and the Chickeneers of the High Seas and anyone I have neglected to mention.

I adore you. That is all.

The Fluent Self