When it comes to running Daisybutter, this here blog, I’ve always maintained that it’s easy, it’s my most favourite part of the day, it’s what comes naturally to me and ‘I can’t imagine where I’d be without it’. For seven years, that’s what comes to mind, from the earliest days of ‘what is a blog? It sounds like, no offence, you have a disease’ to the ‘wait, does that mean you get free things?’ to today’s ‘why aren’t you *insert media famous blogger here*?’ I absolutely adore blogging and I probably always will.
It’s just that sometimes, blogging is hard to love.
Blogging is 2016 comes at you from all angles. If there’s anything I’ve learned from my seven years, it’s that there isn’t technically a cookie cutter blogger. Everybody brings something new to the table, even if that table is circular and plated in rose gold and white marble. I’ve learnt that the community is full of wonderfully strong and inspiring businesswomen and creative minds. I’ve learnt that I’ll never really love photographing things as much as I do writing copy. And that’s the thing right now: I can sit and churn out posts and posts full of copy and feel confident in it but it gets lost behind a sparkly kaleidoscope of themed photographs everywhere. And that’s not me. That regimented all-my-photos-will-be-this-colour thing.
Being away from the glossiness of British blogging for three weeks made me realise how much I still adore blogging but it’s also made me totally question my place in the blogosphere. I’ve found nothing more difficult this week than attempting to jump back on the blogging train when my heart is still in Asia, my brain is still at the office (it’s only downstairs, but still!) and my mind is, well, everywhere. As I look into my blogging notebook, I’ve got SO many things I’d like to share with you, I’m just struggling to make it fit in a world that has completely run away from what I remember. I want to share memories from my beautiful Grandma’s 80th birthday party. I want to tell tales of my dream trip to Bali. I want to write a belated postcard from my most favourite city of them all. And they’re not tinted in copper or white marble or topped with sprinklings of fake snow or hint at popular culture that I know nothing about. Why do I feel so nervous to share my smorgasbord of new content?
I think I’ll go and have an 8:12pm coffee now and mull things over.
PS. I finally saw Harry Potter and the Cursed Child last night and it was bloody magical. SO GOOD.