Wow, a hundred blog posts in eight months. If someone had put me at gunpoint at the beginning of March and told me I would have to write that amount by October, I'd have told them they were crazy, 1) because they were pointing a gun at my head, and 2) No one with a social life could possibly write that much. So maybe my social life is questionable, after all, I blend conversations I've made characters have with the ones I have in my own life. But blogging almost daily has proven to be more than not torturous...It's actually been fun.
I've either been highly, highly productive, or one hell of a procrastinator. I guess it depends on if you see homework as half done, or half un-done. Or, you know, ignorable, until you squeeze in a hundred more words about sweatpants and lobster slippers. Priorities. It's definitely kept me writing, even when I'd rather kick and scream and even read Ivanhoe instead of put another word on my computer. Just kidding, I'm actually enjoying Ivanhoe so far, thanks to the reading switch Maria and I have done. But there's something about ranting about your own life that's easier to tackle than making up another character's. Don't get me wrong, I love writing fiction, and as E.L. Doctorow says, "writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia." But it can be exhausting! And when you're running on six of hours of sleep, you tend to find the lazy way to do things.
When I started this blog, it was with the intention to "embark on a spiritual journey," track my progress on meditation and chanting the 45 minute Guru Gita at 5:00 every morning. In hopes to be a tried-and-true yogi, I feigned some grand epiphanies that sounded all spiritual and whatnot, and tried not to tell the world that while my month long yoga retreat was delightful, and I learned a lot, it hadn't changed my core in any way. I was still girly and insecure. I still had attachment to material goods. I still couldn't walk through Target without buying everything off their makeup shelves. And in some way, I equated this to failing. Other blogs I'd read started off with the intention to rant about their lives, and ended up being a grand spiritual journey. In fear that I was regressing, I kept doing yoga, hoping the major life change would come.
But, it turns out, I wasn't regressing. I may be blending into the collegiate lifestyle by wearing less hippie-ish clothes, and I've even participated in a fitness yoga class or two (okay, or just one), but I've realized that Shoshoni taught me to self-reflect, and want to grow as a person. It may not have driven a spiritual journey in the most traditional sense, but isn't everyone's journey different? If we all went down the same road, we have a major traffic jam, and we'd all start giving each other the finger and yelling profanities out the window. As it turns out, yogis come in all different forms. Sure, you're gonna have more of the vegetarian people who wear long skirts and bandanas and take vows of silence in some areas, but that's only one kind of person. Yoga teaches us that we are all one, united by breath. And to try to make yourself something you aren't is just as bad as slapping a bunch of foundation on your face, buying some jeans you don't need, and eating a burger...times a million.
I mean, really, what nineteen year old knows how her life is going to turn out, or what she's supposed to be? If there are such nineteen year olds, can you tell me the secret of life? It might sound cooler to have a blog that has all these fancy-shmancy epiphanies that make me sound all smarticle, but that's only half the time. Reflecting about my screw-ups, or telling the world about my love of coffee isn't a regression, or a failure. It's just a girl trying to work out all the puzzle pieces of her life.
Also, saying "I know everything, mwahahaha" in a blog just isn't very exciting. You gotta have some conflict, people!
Namaste.
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