doing the same things differently

When life starts to feel hectic and-or restless, my first inclination has always been to strip down and purge . . . downsize. Not that I have tons of commitments or belongings to begin with, but I haven’t first thought to keep doing all the same things differently. My first thought has been that Something Has to Give. Or somewhere, I need to Start Over.

In considering what I’d like for this blog space to look like in the unfolding fourth year of its existence, I had the same first inclintations – say less, post less often. Give it [even more] breathing room. But I’ve actually always enjoyed the freedom I allow myself to break all the blogging rules; to post three times before Thursday, or twice within two hours; to post about essentially whatever I want, and then not post at all. So why would I do less of what I enjoy? Perhaps I can just do it differently. 

From the moment I captured this deeply satisfying photograph,


I’ve been attached to its perfection. I have thoroughly enjoyed employing it as a heading // background for my blog. I’ve enjoyed having color and solid strokes of Muli sans typeface to established the vibe of this space. When I figured out how to have a ‘landing’ page, I was stoked and felt official – like a real website! Like my thoughts and words and pictures had a front door to veil them from the internet world.

I’ve put a lot of time and energy into blogging, and into Folkbird in particular. It’s served me well as an outlet and it’s counted towards my ten-thousand hours of storytelling. I don’t intend to desist from this, but I do feel like doing it differently. The world seems shifting towards apps and images, and I am fairly enamored with width and words. And in 2018, I think I’ll feel like having a text-heavy tone. Not entirely shorn of photography, but more words-focused than I have been.

The thought has even crossed my dramatic mind to have A Year Without Selfies. Not that I take or post a ton of selfies to begin with, but just thinking of what the implications would be – to ask friends or family or strangers to capture me in moments that I would like to remember, and in so doing see what I look like further than an arm’s length away.

Enyhoo, these notions expressed are more for myself than anyone else . . . to commemorate an era of a photo that I loved, and to catalogue intentions of doing a same thing differently.

. . . & &


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