(The “dating” part is after the jump.)
I recently discovered a blog I wrote six years ago when I was single and living in L.A. I’d forgotten the password and thought all was lost until a month ago, when I got a spammish email reminding me of the account.
I know writers hate to look at what we’ve written because we only see how it could have been so much better, how bad it was, yada yada yeah yeah who cares.
There is an unheralded joy of looking at your old stuff, which is that, if you wait long enough, you won’t even remember having written it. Thus you can read yourself like a stranger and react to you.
And just like you wouldn’t care if you read a stranger’s work and it was bad, you will realize there’s no point in getting all agitated about your own writing.
Better yet, maybe you will find your Old Self silly and borderline amusing, and wonder why you spent so much time worrying about sucking. And who cares if you did in fact, net suck? Your own bad writing is hilarious.
The bottom line: I hope you save your blog passwords and re-read yourself in six years. It’s free fun!
Reading myself, I was like: who is this crazy person? Is that me? She/me is nutty!
Below is a post in which I wax philosophically about dating, a subject I will always find endlessly fascinating, even when I am 90 years old and wearing purple.
Also, I think I was onto something. Enjoy!
While I forgot about writing these actual words, I didn’t lose the feeling that inspired them; I wound up falling in love with someone who plays zero games.
But is totally challenging in other ways.