on bravery, identity crises, and mormons

So I used to have a blog.

I blogged about pretty things, things which made me happy. I blogged about purses. Sometimes I blogged about more important things, politics and literature and the whys and wherefores of being a 20-something. Mostly I blogged about love. About being in love. About my love.

When that love collapsed, I shut the blog down. In a lot of ways it felt like the blog was mocking me. It was a permanent record of how foolish I had been, and how happy, and how radically different my life had become. To be honest: Everything reminded me of my former life. The bed. The spoons. Asparagus. Snow. Guitars and books and chairs. But seeing it in print, albeit virtual, was too much.

But it has been growing, recently. The desire to write again. Write something new, share a space. I've thought a lot about how honest to be here. I thought a lot about how honest to be there. Ultimately I want to be honest, because the blog, for me, has to be a representation of something authentic, something genuine, or else it is simply another way I am falsifying an identity to please others or to hide the truth from myself, disguise it, pretty it up. I'm not interested in doing that - in life, yes, but more directly in writing.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I want this space to be. It is hard for me to justify having a blog unless it has a purpose. Otherwise I'd just throw it all in the journal. And I read a lot of blogs. A lot.

Here is a list of things my blog is not:

A fashion blog. I like clothes, but I cannot afford them, nor do I have a sense of style that would justify me taking awkward photographs of myself each day in order that other people may covet my look.

A food blog. I love food, and I love to cook, and it was food blogging that made me fall in love with this whole weird world, but I don't cook enough, or with enough skill, to make that this the next Orangette. (Dear Orangette, I love you. I think we should be best friends.)

A writing blog. I am not a writer. Not yet.

A sex blog. Because...just no.

A "look-how-gorgeous-my-house/apartment/barn conversion is" blog. Look at these $300 throw pillows. Look at the heirloom bow-and-arrow set resting casually in the corner. Look at these Eames chairs I dug out of my grandmother's basement and refurbished with spray paint and bunting.

A mormon blog. I'm not blonde, a mother, or a delightful virgin. I also think that gays should be married chop chop, quick quick. And I'm pretty sure god is on my side for that.

What I do know is that on New Years Eve, at a speakeasy with my best friend of almost 20 years (egads), with my life in a wild shambles, the bartender took our photo with a polaroid and on the bottom of the grainy image we wrote: BE BRAVE. It was the only resolution I felt comfortable making. It felt necessary. So this space, if nothing else, will be a reminder of that. Awkward middle ground, here I am. We're going to take this thing slow for a while, kittens. We're going to test the waters.

In church a few weeks ago, our reverend said this: "Courage is hearing a calling greater than fear, and following it." I would hope, at least, we can all agree to that.