A few months ago, I started writing a piece about the awkwardness of group texting with my siblings. It was somewhat humorous, completely spot-on, and full of realizations about how I process information and context in relation to my other family members. I had written about the entire episode, complete with a little dose of family dynamics and history. After some thinking, I decided to delete it instead of publishing it on this blog. It was a moment of realization that my siblings might not find (over)sharing with the world as cathartic as I do.
In retrospect, I kinda regret deleting it. I haven't been publishing a lot of things on the blog this past year. Well, written things, anyway – plenty of photos, though. Anymore, when I write, I read over it and think, “Holy Hemingway, this sounds like shit, Batman!”
When I had stronger opinions, I found writing to be a lot easier. In a conversation with one of my brothers awhile back, I was telling him how living in Australia had changed me. During the time there, I was hyperengaged with American politics and I couldn't wait to move back, so I could become super active, possibly even volunteering for candidates, etc. However, after getting settled back in my old life, the desire went null and void. I'm not apathetic, I just couldn't care less about the incessant blah, blah, blah of left vs right discourse. Now, I avoid political discussions like the plague. Perhaps it's a factor of getting older, perhaps it's a factor of all of the social network app overkill, perhaps it's a factor of being an ex-expat. Most likely, it’s a combination of all three. It’s kinda like this scene from Donnie Darko: