First off let me just say. I am not a blogger.
Well I guess I am now.
But I am not a writer.
Well I guess that’s a lie too now.
For years I saw blogging as something for the elite. Only creative people write. Right? I’m not an English major. Not even a real Faculty of Arts student like many of my Psych major classmates. My degree (B.Sc.) suggests that I should be a science major. But I’m not. Thankfully, since in my experience, they have the WORST grammar, and don’t really care. But for years I came up with reasons I couldn’t blog. Reasons I shouldn’t blog.
My life is barely even interesting right? But I have a lot to say. I have experienced a lot. Met a lot of cool people. I do some cool stuff. Eat some cool stuff. And sometimes just laze about and do nothing (though given my busy schedule those days are going the way of the dinosaurs).
Recently I had the pleasure of writing a few pieces for my good friend Shauna’s blog (Shaunanagins Taboo Tab – check it out here), and a crazy thing happened. I realized that I could write. I could be interesting. And while 90% of my day at the moment involves working, or eying up food porn, I had things to say.
Things to say about life and death. About failure and triumph. About growth. About love. About food and loving both it and your body simultaneously. About fun psychological facts. About the state of the Ottawa transit system (albeit those tend to be more rant like). About books. About television, the radio and every other media source.
I had a lot to say. And someone out there cared about what I had to say. At least related to death, finances, and eating disorders. And that’s just a small section of who I am.
Who am I? Interesting question.
I am a fourth year Psych major. Stumbling my way through this exciting adventure known as getting a university education. Or four to six years of caffeine fueled all nighters, chapter readings, essays, and labs aimed at obtaining a $40000 piece of paper that says you’re competent in your field. I am in the home stretch. I will get my piece of paper this year. But alas, graduate school calls to me. I intend on being a professional student. But it will be so worth it in the end.
I want to help people. I am a chronic people pleaser. I am that friend that people seem to come to for help. And I love it. I have also survived a lot in my short life. And from those experiences, a desire to help others survive has developed. I wouldn’t say I have my life fully together at this point. But I figure more out each day.
I am more than a student though. I do have a life. Occasionally.
I am a runner. Newly. Barely. I have walked three half-marathons with my mom, and am now preparing for the Army Run in September. I am also doing Color Me Rad in Gatineau the weekend before with my boyfriend (I finally convinced him to be active OUTSIDE!!).
I cook a lot. When I get stressed, I bake. And yeah, I recognize the humour captured below
And in case you’re wondering. Yeah I do kind of run so that I can eat like a 18 year old guy. Because my metabolism really can’t handle the amount of food my inner fat person would love to eat. But life is short.
I read. A lot. I love that brief period where you can transport yourself to another world. I occasionally get so into it that at the end of a book there is a brief moment where I feel as if I don’t even know what to do with my life now that the book is over. I cry when characters die. I mourn for the other characters’ losses.
I am a small town girl. My boyfriend calls me a villager. At over 150 000 people, Barrie is hardly a village. We have a Milestone’s, two Kelsey’s, and recently Smoke’s Poutinerie and The Works. And Beavertails. We are not small. But you can drive across the city in about 20 minutes. And before Ottawa I had never even heard of Shawarma. And my high school had precisely 3 Asians and two African Americans. So we are, or at least were, a little small.
What else should you know about me? I’m a crazy cat lady. It was practically a job skill when I applied for my job at PetSmart.
I have been told that this mysterious maternal instinct will kick in any time now, but for now my cat takes priority. But she’s so cute. And all I have to do is look at her and she starts to purr. And she doesn’t have a full on melt-down when I put her food in the wrong bowl. And there’s no diapers to change. No three a.m. feedings.
I do love my nephews though.
I am an aunt. A sister (fun fact – my brother, centre, is EXACTLY ten years older than me. We were both born on February 16). A daughter. A girlfriend. And a friend friend.
So I hear you.
If I’m not a writer, and the concept of blogging seems so lofty, why start a blog? What am I even going to talk about?
And all its messy complications I have somehow survived. And its deliciousness that happens on random Thursdays. And the runner’s high. And academic adventures.
Call it lessons learned, inspired moments, and cakes devoured.
It’s a pretty lofty goal. But check in every Tuesday and Thursday, and I swear I’ll keep it interesting.