I never know where to start when I’m getting back to the blog after a long and unexplained hiatus. Should I begin by telling you why I pulled off yet another disappearing act when just the last time I promised it wouldn’t happen again? Should I explain how every time I thought about logging in, a nagging voice in my head grew louder, stopping me from getting beyond the homepage?
Should I tell you that I’ve become all consumed in the daily routine of adulthood that I cannot find the time to put words together? Or should I talk about how I’ve somehow convinced myself that the daily routine of adulthood doesn’t make for good blogging material? Or that I’ve spent so long re-reading pieces I wrote when I was half-asleep, half-focused, and almost always stressed, that I also believe that I cannot and should not write?
Because all of the above are very much the reason why I have stopped updating this blog- and even stopped writing in general. Yet, like all the other times before, I come to the realization a bit too late that I should be writing because 1. I love it and 2. I shouldn’t care about the feedback if the process is what makes me happy.
But look, I built this blog around my then-upcoming marriage and the move. I shared with you all my fears, expectations, and the joyous moments, as well as everything that came my way. And that made for great content. There was always something to say because there was never a break. There was always someone that we met or somewhere we went that provided for great material- whether I thought about them positively or often did not.
I truly thought I could keep that up once we got settled in. Little did I know that the first year wasn’t exactly what I pictured it to be, that I would spend the good majority of it trying to just figure things out. And trust me when I say that it sounds much more glamorous than it actually was- because the reality was plenty of tears shed in frustration and many nights ending in my inability to say awake long enough to sleep in my bed. It’s not that anything was inherently wrong- it’s just that handling so many things at the same time and expecting to be amazing at everything almost crushed me.
I realize, as I write this, that these are all things I’ve written before. And I know that I’m probably stuck in this vicious cycle trying to understand adulthood- a cycle I’ve been trying to break by returning to old hobbies (reading) and finding new ones (shockingly, running), with varying degrees of success.
I would like to share those adventures with you, probably in the hopes that writing about them helps me understand things better. Consider this some weird form of support.
And yet, I don’t know what direction Beyond Beirut is going to take in this new incarnation. Maybe I don’t want to find out. Maybe I shouldn’t even put so much pressure on myself trying to find my perfect theme.
Because while I may no longer be “the girl who is writing about her wedding,” what I can promise is that you’ll always be able to hear my voice loud and clear, no matter what the subject is.