471: about time

So I was reading my “about” page a few minutes ago — I thought maybe it was time for a change. It’s funny how that one single page, those few lines that you put down to describe yourself to other people, provide a far clearer snapshot of your priorities and what has changed or remained the same about you in the intervening years, than all the years of blog posts combined. And I’ve written a lot. 

I thought all this was lost to me, in any case, because while I write mainly to not forget, who really remembers what revisions are made, draft over draft over revised draft? But those things appeal to me, the changes in words, the documents, and in some strange and terrible and probably psychotic way, blacklines have this weird attraction for me. So you can’t take the Dobby out of me, it seems, and in any case I too wear this pride like a badge on my sleeve, whether I like to admit to it or not. So I might as well, I guess. (Admit it, i mean.) I am a lawyer at heart, and I will still lawyer the fuck out of anyone, given a chance.

But WordPress is pretty amazing. It told me that the first time I wrote my “about” page was eight years ago (has it really been that long?), back in 2006. About the time when I finally decided to move from the old place, and leave all my teenage angst behind. (Well, whatever. I imported it all over anyway, two or three years back. The Internet is forever, whatever you do.) It told me I had made eight revisions, all the way up to now. It might be that I already knew myself fairly well back when I was nineteen years old, or it could just be that fundamentally, most things about me have not changed. But what surprised me was that each of the amendments, though minor, represented a personal paradigm shift. I remembered those times, all the self-doubt, what was happening, why I put it there. And that slowly, slowly, I was changing. Who’s to say I wasn’t growing up? I must have been (I am, I hope), but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t the same thing. 

Now I am changing again. I’m not sure what to say, so I’ll think about it some more. But it might be the first time in these eight years that I am thinking seriously about erasing everything, and starting from scratch. Even if it doesn’t happen at the end of the day (would I really get rid of “alcohol”? I hear the mocking voices already), this thought, this minor thought — this too is the beginning of something major. I imagine this is what it’s like to take journeys, not escape routes.