It was pointed out to me in comment on a
post dated June 1, that my blog used to be interesting but has become lame. The comment certainly did not send me spiraling into depression. I did get out of bed the next day without a second thought of it until I later signed into my Blogger account. To be honest, I was surprised that someone actually followed my blog long enough to have had an opinion of when it was good.
However, being one who never shies from self-introspection, the comment made me wonder if my life had, in fact, become lame.
Rather than be offended, I took it as an opportunity to explore what my blog was becoming ... since my blog is ultimately a reflection of what I was becoming.
This blog is written primarily for me with the intention that my older self will be the main audience. My motivation behind the blog was never to gain Internet fame or to garnish a book deal. It has served its purpose of documenting my own transition from North Carolina to New York City and the subsequent day-to-days. So I have no apologies that I want to remember
what my body looked like at 29 or the sight of my friends enjoying a day on a Long Island beach.
But if someone in cyberspace cared enough to offer a critique on the alleged progressive lameness of my blog, I had to at least be willing to take a look in the mirror and see if it was because I was losing my motivation to effectively document the world around me … or if my life was indeed becoming lame. And maybe it had.
I had been too busy trying to keep up with life in NYC to actually blog regularly about it. I guess I was no longer just an observer. I have been shamelessly backdating posts (which will continue through my last official post dated July 1, 2009) because I'm often too tired from long hours in the office or the night club. I've had too much going on at work to use lunch hours to people-watch some 20-odd floors below in Bryant Park. I use my Sundays to recuperate instead of taking my beloved
city walks. And even deeper than that (or maybe shallower), I was surrounded by namedroppers, who revered night club promoters as if they were Gods, and arranged their social calendars around celebrity birthdays and music album release dates. I was beginning to covet designer exclusives and embrace materialistic ideals.
Regardless of what any random reader thought about me, I was beginning to dislike what I saw in the mirror.
Anonymous’s June 1st post comment did not ignite my need to rediscover my true values, but it reaffirmed a slow change within myself that had already begun – though a little less consciously. In preceding months, I was becoming bored with the New York nightlife scene. All the things that were so exciting before were losing their luster. I was partying less and exercising more, giving up alcohol (though not entirely), much to the seemingly utter dispair of several friends. I was eating better and reading up on politics and personal finance. I even opened some mutual funds. And having achieved my goal of establishing a life in New York City by my
New Year's Eve 2007 deadline (e.g. rent an apartment, secure employment, make friends to brunch with) - and having survived over the last three years, it is time for a
new initiative as my 30th birthday approaches in January of 2010 and a new blog that will likely
shed my cyber anonymity since everyone I care about already knows about this one anyway.
I’ll still spend the next few months, wrapping up “Becoming a New Yorker” with the continual shameless backdating of posts until the blog is complete on its previously intended end date of July 1, 2009 - the third anniversary of
my first post. Backdating can’t be worse than leaving a blog unfinished altogether, I suppose. I can't say that I'll be able to suppress my new love for designer handbags. As shallow as it sounds,
walking to work in Manhattan in a trendy outfit and designer bag in tow makes me feel good about not having spent my 20s having babies.Regardless of the positive changes I succeed in making or the negative ones I knowingly choose to ignore ... in the end, I will have a record of my first three years in New York City – of my life … the good, the bad, the ugly, and even the boring … of becoming a New Yorker.
