I hopped onto micro.blog earlier this year. I forget exactly when because this is, I believe, the third time I’ve given the platform a shot, and I’m too lazy to look up the exact date. In the past, I simply couldn’t find a place for micro.blog in my digital life, but the service made sense once I turned my back yet again on Twitter. But that doesn’t mean that my adoption has been seamless. It hasn’t been all rainbows and unicorn farts. Once I had found a place for micro.blog, I then struggled to find my limitations for the service. Did I want it to be only a microblog? Did I want to include long-form blog posts too? What about my short stories? For someone who prefers to compartmentalize, this amounted to a blogging existential nightmare.
I’ve realized that much of my confusion stemmed from my insistence of holding onto my old blog posts, ones that started in 2018 when I made an effort to regularly write again. Looking through these old posts, I realized just how much they centered on grief, from the losses of my mother, father, and stepfather all so close together. As if that weren’t enough, I also had to contend with the loss of myself, the loss of a certain innocence, a certain ignorance. Existential AF, y’all.
Those old posts are precious to me in a way that only I could fully appreciate. Writing has always been my way of making sense of the world around me, so I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say that these old posts helped me to make sense of my experience and that the world made less sense when I wasn’t writing. Those old posts brought understanding. They brought tears. But they also brought peace.
But I’ve realized over the last couple days that I don’t need to bring those posts with me anymore. I don’t need to hold onto them. I am not done with my grief. But I’m done with my grief’s being my primary concern. It’s time to move on and forward, because as my losses have taught me, however long I have, it won’t be nearly long enough.
Grief is something that stays with you. It never really leaves and it resurfaces at times and in ways you could never predict. And I think that’s how those old posts will be: The lessons and revelations will pop up, even if I’m unaware.
It hasn’t been so easy for me to embrace some of the philosophy behind micro.blog. Perhaps because I’m approaching middle age, I found myself digging my heels in and wanting to keep a wall between a microblog and a traditional blog. I had a hard time getting behind Manton’s claim that you’re creating a blog even while microblogging. But as I spend more time on the platform, I’m coming around to the idea.
I appreciate that micro.blog has the flexibility of hosting microposts and longer posts together. I still want to write traditional blog posts from time to time, but they’re no longer my focus. The simple truth is that most of what I want to say doesn’t require much thought; it’s a blip on the radar that I want to throw out into the world for whatever reason. And I want to use most of my long-form writing juice for short stories, with the hope of eventually writing a novel.
The point of this site, my vanity project, is to capture me. Not only my long-form blog posts, but a bit of everything. And holding onto those old posts that were written on other platforms with other intentions doesn’t serve me.
And so, it’s time for this old dog to learn some new tricks.
Note: I’m planning to keep the old posts around as an archive. I still have about 4 and a half years left on my five-year subscription, so maybe it’ll be a while before I take the old posts out back and cap them like Old Yeller.