I grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere, Northern British Columbia and swore I’d never return after University. And then I did. And remained and every day I wonder why. In the time I was here I did my best to create what I felt I lacked in my own life, or what my children lacked. I started and then sold a cupcake/coffee/tea shop after my father died and I lost all my child care. After that I co-created and still direct a children’s musical theatre program while spending the remaining minutes I have writing in the hopes of becoming an actual, published, author.
I started this blog when I was flying and had a tiny little two-seater Cessna 150 that wasn’t much use for anything besides getting up in the air and then coming back down again. We called it the Fargo and I called this, Flying a Fargo, because most of the time, on the ground and above it, I feel like I am, flying a Fargo. Even though I no longer have that plane, nor do I fly (but desperately want to), I still feel like I’m trying to fly a plane that doesn’t have nearly the bells and whistles it needs nor the power to get me to where I want to go. But I keep taking off and I keep showing up and hope that eventually, I will soar. With your help, of course.
I started this blog a long time ago, and then quit. Then started again, and then quit. The last time I quit because I was getting caught up in the dos and do nots. Basically, I started paying attention to my meager likes, my limited shares, my need to reach a broader audience. I started reading up on all that you need to do to publish a successful blog, and I felt I was posting in order to get likes and shares and not writing about what really mattered to me. It felt like a popularity contest and it no longer felt real. I took some time off to get to know myself, to grow, to evolve, and now I’m back and no longer writing for views and likes and shares. I writing because people connected to what I wrote. I’m blogging because I live in a tiny town in the north, and while my experience is very similar to those who live here, the majority of the world has no idea what it’s like to live in a place like this, so I’m going to share it as best I can.
And I’m going to share my life. My fears, my insecurities, my screw ups, my failures and hopefully, my successes as well. Why? Because that is how we connect. We do not connect with others by putting on a show, only posting our best-selves, we connect by being vulnerable, by saying, “I’ve been there too,” and sharing our pain. If I can blog and have one person read it and say, “thank you, I felt the same way and never felt able to say it,” that’s all that matters.
Writing is a lonely profession. I spend my days alone in a small town where I’ve struggled to connect with others. This blog is my chance to connect with like-minded people who may experience the same things I do, or who may not. Either way, it is a chance to put myself out there, to reach out to others. So thank you for coming and reading and I hope you come again, and if you related to anything I wrote, if you liked or disliked what I had to say, please, comment, and start a conversation.