Why am I here? A not-so-existential-like existential crisis.

Hey friends. We meet at last. I was going to say we meet again, but I guess this is my first official post, so…hi. I did just spend way too long writing a whole bunch of nothing on my “About Me” page, so I feel like I have already introduced myself. It’s pretty non-informative but it does explain a bit about me and give you an insight at what the future of this blog is projected to look like- so please go read it…preferably before you finish this post. I will be here when you get back. If you have already read it, kudos. We are kindred spirits. I always like to waste more time than necessary doing research and getting as much information about a topic as possible before actually enjoying the thing itself. You should email me, I feel like we would be great friends.

Now that you have gotten a brief, non-helpful overview about me, let me better explain why I am starting this blog. I know…not a very interesting topic (my following posts should be more entertaining), but I feel it is necessary. (More for me to have on record for when I am freaking out about yet another thing I have committed too and need reminding of why I am doing this in the first place).

The desire to start a blog began after I almost died in Guatemala. Hold your figurative (or literal…who am I to judge) horses…I am okay now. I recovered quite nicely if I do say so myself. But I did actually almost die, and I wrote short little Facebook blurbs about each week of my deterioration to appease my family (and assure them I was alive). The feedback I got from those blurbs boosted my little writers ego, and the things that happened to me were so worthy of actual documentation (and elaboration), that when I returned to the states and recovered enough to put together a coherent string of words I told my mom “I’m gonna write a book about this.” To which my mom responded: “Maybe you should wait until you can eat, and you know, function as a human again.” To which I responded “Forget that. I thwarted death. I can write a stupid book… I can do anything ” (I was pretty out of it then though so I probably did not sound as convincing as I do now).

Spoiler alert. Writing is hard. I wrote a dismal 3 paragraphs (not one of them even being an introduction, or about the same topic for that matter) before I realized that while a lot of things happened to me in those 6 weeks, and I could possibly fill a book about it, people probably wouldn’t want to read a whole book about me being in Guatemala (especially because the majority of it would be comprised of stories involving the expulsion of a multitide of substances from all orfices of my body). (Pooping and puking. That’s what I meant by expulsion and orfices…Sorry about that wording there… there is just no delicate way to talk about it. Which is too bad because several of my future stories will involve bodily functions and if that is not your cup of tea I’m sorry because I literally could not make this stuff up and the world deserves to hear about it).

Enough of that. After my epiphany (that should not have had to be an epiphany in the first place) I realized that while I may eventually have the willpower and tenacity to write a book, it was just not my time. I did not however forget about the desire to write about my near-death experiences. Flash forward to the end of the fall semester. I managed to survive the 16 hour courseload (light compared to my previous 2 semesters), moving back home, commuting to class every day, getting a real job, volunteering 4 hours every week, maintaining relationships, and pretty much rewiring the way my brain works. It almost killed me. Again. I decided to write about that in detail on my Facebook, (Facebook again? Seriously Ali…what are you, 40?) in an effort to be more transparent for the sake of my mental well-being, and I remembered how much I like writing (and sharing about things the whole world…or at least my 128 Facebook friends probably shouldn’t know about me). Flash forward again, to two days ago, when I had yet another stupid thing happen to me that made me think…maybe I should just start a blog. And so here we are. I spent a day debating about the name, then another day trying to figure out this website…and now I have enough of a start to kinda look like I know what I am doing.

So like I said, not-so-existential-like existential crisis. (At least not in the Albert Camus’ The Stranger sense…). I definitely know the purpose of life, and my purpose on this world (thank you Lord Jesus), but this semester was real hard and it made me wonder about what I could be doing instead of wallowing and writing dramatic short poems about young-adult angst…so I am going to write dramatic long stories about why my life should be made into a movie staring Jennifer Lawrence instead, and I hope you will stick around with me (cause I do not have enough money to pay Jennifer Lawrence to act in my mediocre life story, so this is the next best thing).

One thought on “Why am I here? A not-so-existential-like existential crisis.

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