I mean, why? Why (re)start a blog in this, the year of our Lord two thousand and twenty, when honestly we all know there’s no point doing anything outside of the the Twitter cage fight or beyond Zuck’s ever-watchful lizard-eyed gaze?
I mean, engagement feels nice, right? Watch the incoming clicks? Cultivate a respectable ratio? Your Aunty P knows what you like, and it’s that cheeky little flush of good feels you get when someone awards you one (1) internet point. I get it, which is why I post cat pictures on Instagram, and they’re not even pictures of MY cat.
Yes, back in those days (those being the onion tied to the belt days) you had to get off your arse to actually visit someone’s comments box, and who knew what you’d find there? Christ there were some absolutely savage scraps (rarely on mine, I wasn’t cool enough to play host to those). Some realy lovely communities, too. I rocked a little Tas Made badge on my blog design. But I’m long gone from Hobart now.
I ended up moving to Melbourne, turns out, well after I stopped blogging regularly here. I still love Tasmania but god, I needed something else. And later I moved overseas, by which I mean I moved over a sea, as in the Tasman Sea, so it isn’t sounding so glamorous when I put it like that, is it? Not Auckland, either, which is a gorgeous little jewel of a city. It was Wellington, which is kind of like Hobart except 50% larger, 150% shabbier, and about 300% more up itself. I did some government work and I did some political work.
But hey, I’m coming back, just in time to watch the country burn and the reefs die, but despite all that I’ve been aching to return. Not Tassie, this time. Or at least not right away. I am privileged enough to have a couple of months to recharge my batteries, so I’ll do that.
And as for this blog. Will I keep it up this time? I tried restarting it a couple of times and it all just felt too hard to get motivated, and not anywhere near as immediate and fun as getting delicious social media pings. Those are kind of hollow now for me. I grabbed a backup and I read what I wrote back then and my god I cringe at a lot of it, and okay there were a few gems, and fucking hell I was a smartarse, and my opinions hvae changed on some of it. If you don’t cringe you haven’t grown, the ol’ cliche goes. I was 24 when I started that and I’m nearly 40 now.
But what I do like when I read it is the energy, and that it was right here in my own backyard, in my own spot, in my own time. That felt good.