And just like that I’ve crossed the 110 post mark for this year too. I used to watch those numbers clearly, and mark out the 100th day. But this year, I’ve just lost track and I’m feeling swept over by something else that keeps me going writing these posts. The nature of what I write here has changed, yet again, I’m very aware. And with every instance that I notice the change I think about it from an “audience” perspective, and I find lesser and lesser reason to come back and keep reading. I can’t lie, what little desire to have an audience here there was, has all but disappeared completely. And it shows in how there’s lesser context by way of actual events and happenings in my life these days. There’s lesser granular detail about all the abstract things I am exploring for myself. I have far more ups and downs, and there is so much more messiness and angst in full view. There is little for voyeurs to be lured by. There are no super original hot takes.
So for those of you who still find whatever it is that you do that keeps you coming back, whether it’s value or just sheer habit, thank you. It kind of overwhelms me that even with caring so little about my readers, there’s still a fair number of you who return.
The realisation about having crossed over 100 posts hit me when I was digging into my archives from this time last year, for linking up to my daily posts. I do this because I like to see how much, or how little, my life has changed as I go. And when I read the posts from one, two, four years ago, sometimes I am overwhelmed. Like I was seeing the posts form just one year ago — last summer that when I accidentally spent two whole months in Goa. I don’t know if anyone else would notice, but I do. I see how my tone is different, the words are tentative, the posts balmy and very reflective of the space I was in just one year ago. Now, one year on I feel far more sure, decisive, in-form. Things are a lot less uniformly blissful as they were last summer. I am encountering a lot more of my inner self, because I’ve peeled back many more layers between then and now. These days I find myself touching my messy core a lot more. And it is not always as pleasant, beautiful, victorious — which is all the words I could use to describe the phase I was in last summer.
Physically, the landscape of my life was so different too. A, I was in Goa, which always put me in a very different space, than Bangalore. B, I was still working in some measure, and turned to work to give my days structure and meaning. I have come so, so, so far from that place. C, VC and I were in the throes of living our separate lives in separate cities, and I look back at the points at which we’d meet (mostly in Goa) with such a fondness. I feel all warm and fuzzy thinking about the time, of the pangs of separation, and the delight of the aloneness and the shot at experiencing that with intention. It made our days in Goa so much more soft and I have a whole different set of Goa memories from last year, very different from when I lived there. Currently, we are at the opposite end of the spectrum with both of us being together at home 24/7. And I don’t even mean just post-lockdown. This has been a whole other kind of sweetness, and the lockdown has brought certain other aspects of our relationship up to the fore that I feel glad and grateful for.
There have been times in my life where I have walked into drastic changes bravely and with openness, and there have been other times where I have been plain unwilling, unable to take a step. At the moment, I’m at a point where the change ahead of me is bringing up fear of myself. I am treading slowly, unable to allow the full force of what lies ahead to engulf me, taking it in small baby steps, dipping my toes in a little bit everyday, instead.
But I know what I have been through. I know what I have weathered and what I have come through in this past year. So today, looking back at my posts from a year ago, seeing how good scary change can be was all kinds of reaffirming.
Slow change. Scary change.