For me, the hardest thing about being a blogger is not taking photos, coming up with recipes, or writing quirky content.
It’s not hard for me to be happy and dorky and a little bit comical. But it’s really, really hard for me to talk about days like these–bad days where everything that was supposed to go right just happened to go wrong.
I appreciate it though when other bloggers share their struggles, admitting to the flaws that make each of us imperfectly perfect.
Flaws? Yes, of coure, I have plenty of those too. I am not Albert Einstein, and abstract or geometric concepts don’t come very easily to me. When I’m upset, I turn my negative emotions inwards, rather than outwardly dealing with them as I should. I overanalyze. I allow a miniscule mishap to overshadow a merry day. I don’t always fit in with the typical crowd. I am not perfect.
To say that in my head is easy. But to say that to you–to the world–on a public blog is hard.
Where is this all coming from? Today was just a little bit of a roller coaster.
I overslept and had to rush to get ready in the morning, forgetting important details in the process. H wasn’t feeling well, so I was trying to stay upbeat. Inside though, I could already feel myself wrestling with the day.
Once I arrived at work (thankfully on time), I couldn’t help but focus a little bit on the negative. Though I certainly don’t dislike my internship, I don’t exactly find myself passionate about it or stimulated with what I’m doing. On one hand, it’s a good thing because it helps me to realize what I don’t want to do with the rest of my life. On the other hand though, I can’t help but notice how much happier I am when I’m working at my minimum wage coffee shop job. It poses an interesting question about the future in my mind, and to be quite honest, it scares me to think that this is an indicator of something greater.
Anyways, after work, I took a nap but couldn’t fall asleep. So instead, I closed my eyes and tried to soothe my mile-a-minute thoughts. After an hour, I gave up and found myself slightly more frustrated and tired than I began. A few minutes later, I realized that I was supposed to be a potluck in 30 minutes.
A potluck for which I had nothing to bring and no kitchen to make something on the fly.
Life was not playing in my favor. Miraculously though, I whipped up an amazing cookie dough dessert in about 15 minutes, leaving me just enough time to get to the potluck only slightly late. This dessert, however, required that I use the ingredients that I needed for a Small Kitchen College post due today. It also meant no time to eat a real dinner. Even so, I put on a happy face, quickly changed, and headed out the door.
Right as I did so, I received a call from my boss at the coffee shop. There was a slight miscommunication about the night’s graveyard shift, and I was supposed to be there already.
So there I was, with my just-completed potluck dish, dressed, and ready for the occasion. Only to find out that I would be working well past 10 p.m., which would be too late to attend the potluck and too late to head back home off campus. I knew it was my fault for not knowing the night shift was mine, so I quickly changed again and then ate a whole lot of impromptu cookie dough dessert. For dinner.
I didn’t mind working the shift at all. In fact, enjoying a glass of iced tea and some laid-back music was a welcome way to unwind. By 10 p.m., I began to make preparations for closing. I had watched and helped other co-workers close before, but I had never done it myself. That quickly revealed itself to be a problem. From cleaning the shop to depositing the profits, I couldn’t help but worry that I was doing everything wrong. I felt frustrated, uncertain, upset with myself, and worst of all–incompetent. Eventually, I relented and called my boss, asking a few questions. His tone was understanding, and his answers were helpful.
But I hung up that phone feeling like I had totally and completely let him down.
Still though, I kept my chin up and finished the job. Finally, I turned off the lights and prepared to lock the door.
Except it wouldn’t lock. I felt like screaming, crying, and dropping to my knees all at once. I fiddled with it for 20 minutes, before again admitting that I needed to call my boss. Again, he helped me fix the problem. And again, I felt like a veritable screw up.
I devoured a few leftover croissants for dinner part 2 mainly out of emotion, causing only further distress. A few friends cheered me up after the whole episode, but even as I type this, I can’t shake the feelings of the night.
I was prepared for a fantastic day, and it just didn’t happen.
And that, to me, is the hardest part about being a blogger.
You can prepare your content, edit your photos, schedule your posts, create fantastic recipes and witty banter. But you can’t prepare for the days when life throws you a curveball.
For when you ignore your body and feed your emotions instead. For when nothing seems right and everything seems wrong. For when you feel totally and completely inadequate.
But you can blog about it. It’s hard, but you can blog about it and hope with every shred of faith in life that tomorrow will be a better day.
Because guess what? You can blog about that too. And that, to me, is the best part about being a blogger.
Here’s to a better today