I have just gotten off the treadmill after walking a mile and watching the latest ep of ‘Schitt’s Creek’ (which was amazing, by the way), and then going to YouTube since I had about 5 minutes of leisurely walking left. “Where You Are” by Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey was one of the first videos to pop up, and so I watched it again. By “again,” I mean for the umpteenth time in the last month or so. I read Jessica’s book when it came out via eBook last month, and related to much of it. (The drinking, the pills, the lost loves, the relationship struggles, etc.) This isn’t an advert for the book, but she and I are the same age and were both raised in the South, and it’s noteworthy for someone else to be so open about the taboos of being raised in a very religious environment, and how one reconciles keeping your relationship with God in tact whilst also stumbling upon, around, and above things which you were taught were sending you straight to hell.
This is not a goodbye blog; rather, I’m choosing to end here. To borrow from Jessica yet again, I feel I’ve been quite an “open book” during the 11 years I’ve kept this blog. It was a lot of fun at first, and I recall challenging myself to blog once a week for awhile. It became “not fun” when someone stole my Granny’s picture off of here not long after her death and used it in a Facebook meme/joke. (A candid photo my Granny asked me to take, by the way. She thought she looked nice that day and wanted a photo for her Christmas cards.) I saw the light then that baring my thoughts, my feelings, and–yes–even my photos was setting me up to be a target for people to use what I shared against me. I’ve never denied that I wear my heart on my sleeve…I even use the line, “Running out of sleeve to wear my heart on” in my online dating profiles. And yes, I’m dating again after my ex turned out to be verbally, physically, and financially abusive. Twelve hours after he moved out, I adopted a 12 year-old cat who’s turned out to be great company. I would include a cute photo of the cat, but I don’t feel compelled to do that now. After all, much of this blog was based on keeping up appearances, attempting to impress, and overall win people’s approval. I feel no need for any of that now, and that in and of itself is a great feeling to feel.
The blog archive will still be around on WordPress, even though I’m not renewing the domain name. The OCD in me resisted this, as southernaristocracy.org is printed on the top of the business cards I ordered two years ago. And then I realized I’ve only given a handful of those cards out (literally less than five, and one was to my mum). I will always be grateful for what the outlet of this blog gave me; being able to bare my soul when I could barely bear to be myself was a godsend. There were many times I was able to write about things here which I could never tell anyone in person. And the freedom of knowing it was “out there” for anyone to see was liberating. Perhaps it’s growing older–I’ll turn 40 next month–or perhaps it’s simply not caring what others think of me any longer.
I’ll end with this (famous, long-winded last words)…the English professor who encouraged all of us English majors in 2009 to start a blog…well, she was right. She told us something to the extent of, “In this day and age, everyone is a travel writer. Everyone is a restaurant critic. Everyone has a voice.” And it’s true, and it becomes truer with every post which is made on TripAdvisor, Yelp, Twitter, Instagram, etc. I *so badly* wanted to be a magazine writer back then; even before then, actually, when I attempted to transfer colleges and major in Magazines at the University of Georgia. The good news for humanity these days is that–yes–literally everyone has the ways and the means to be a published writer. A critic. A reviewer. A travel writer. My favourite theory I learned as I was finishing up my English degree was “New Historicism.” See the hyperlink if you’re so inclined, but the basic premise is that to completely comprehend what happened during–say, the Civil War, or the coronavirus outbreak of 2020–one must hear from every. single. person who has a story to tell about their experience during that time. Which theoretically would never be possible, but these days it is becoming more and more so a reality. Everyone deserves to be heard, and each perspective is valuable.
There are no wise last words I have to type, to tie up 11 years in a perfect grosgrain ribbon. It has been a pleasure sharing my thoughts, and I would do it all over again. I simply do not want to do so anymore. Those who know me, know the real me. And that is where I am.
brt