I began my first blog in the Spring of 2002.
I am older than I look.
The format feels dated, somehow, so I’m rationalizing this Medium thing as something different. Essays? Articles? Does it really matter?
I stumbled on some old entries a few days ago. I expected to cringe. Instead, I got excited, which surprised me.
The person who wrote those words was not me. She was less secure than me, but she was somehow edgier, bolder, in a way I can’t quite explain.
I internalized long ago the idea that the past holds no power over the shaman. I’ve walked away from so much these last five years, left more baggage at the side of the road than I care to admit.
So why would writing from another life have any interest for me?
I like my life now. Very much. I get to make art. I go on adventures. I love, and am loved in return. I am quite settled and I have gained weight and that girl who knew about the dark moon and punk rock, about myth and sex and liberation, often feels very far away.
But she knew things, things I’ve forgotten.
Nostalgia is not for me. I don’t want to become her again. But bringing her knowledge, her secrets, into the present and finding the resonance … that feels like dancing, to a tune that I’m hearing for the first time.
If you’ve made your way here, I thank you. Stepping into the unknown is always a bit friendlier when you have company.