What's going on, here?
I just had lunch with friends and while trying to list out loud the kind of things I had written in the past, I came to realize I had written more than I thought, and always loved doing so.
Personal (teen) diaries where I’d bitch on best friends’ treasons or outrageous outfit, make fun of that teacher (how cruel) or else copy the sms conversations with my boyfriend, wondering for about an entire page what he had meant with this particular word (I know). Both priceless and shameful to read it today.
Travel diaries, that I would take with me during a (family) trip overseas. Interestingly I was just doing so while traveling to a foreign country. Never wrote about that week doing nordic ski in middle-of-nowhere Bessans. My writing was more about surprises and fun facts than culture and history, let’s be honest. But it makes it quite hilarious to re-read afterwards. Like the day my sister and I came across these two actors from the series Lost in an empty, completely random motel, and sneaked in their date asking for an autograph. Stupid teens.
Life-options diaries. If you know me you know how much of a wanderer I’ve been since I left my parents home. Well, I say ‘I’ but my second half was already part of the picture. At that time (10 years ago), we had pasted a large whiteboard sticker on our sliding closet doors and had drawn the many life options we could go for. The quintessence of empowerment and freedom. We had listed the destinations (worldwide, wild and less wild), their costs of life, the kinda jobs we could be doing, the skills we wanted to learn, the languages
we I’d be keen to learn.
Work notebooks, where I’d conscientiously take notes during a fascinating talk or training, or draw geometric shapes during a boring one. It always started with a quest for perfection. I had this weird habit of sanctifying a new notebook. I would swear myself that I would only write with this specific pen moving forward, so there would be harmony throughout the entire book. Never happened. It always started clean. Ended up scribbled. And since having a manual notebook just duplicates your work, I recently admitted that I would now take notes on my computer directly.
Songs, where I’d pick a popular one and make it mine/ours, twisting the lyrics for the purpose of a particular event. And sing it,
naturally, in tune. Alone or collectively. A high school friend turning 18, my grand-parents 50th wedding anniversary, my best friend’s wedding, my mom’s 60th birthday, and many more. This writing’s mostly been a ‘dazzling’ (une fulgurence), meaning I would get inspired right before the deadline (in the train, often). I’ve always felt a mix of total-lack-of-legitimacy X f*-it-what-if-we-are-dead-tomorrow. Seeing the joy and tears in the recipient’s eyes was all I needed to make it worth it.
Travel blog, where I would document my trips and readings at a very given time of my life - 2014. Seems that this format wasn’t necessarily my favorite one.
Wedding newsletter, where I’d reach out to our family and friends, mentally preparing them about this moment we were about to live altogether. For about three months before and after the event, I sent a dozen newsletters, describing everything from our new life in Australia, to the daily challenges of preparing a wedding 17,000 km away, all this while getting everyone pumped up, sharing logistics details and connecting folks altogether. How excited I felt doing so and how rewarding it has been!
Pregnancy diaries, where I would openly describe my mood, discomfort, joy, stress, doubt and other common conditions of a pregnant life. Where I would question doctors certitudes, make fun of myself unable to swim crawl at the pool (your water winds are upside down), or show appreciation for some random help in the bus. These special times are so easy to forget and romanticize after the facts. Older mamma appreciated younger mamma doing the work upfront while entering her second pregnancy.
Diaries about my growing-kiddos, where I’d religiously write down every big step of their learning paths, the insignificant ones too. Their first words, laughs, cries. It didn’t come out of the blue. My mom did so for me, my sister and brother. She’s been holding them as treasures, and we weren’t allowed to read them until that day, two weeks from becoming a mom. I was honored to jump back in time, holding my breath, grasping every single word. How special it felt to read the love of a mom while you are about to become one. While I was able to keep a good writing pace during the first two years of my first kid, truth is life with two became so hectic that I feel shitty not having written much since.
School newsletter, where I am currently wearing my mom’s hat damn seriously, offering to be the voice of our group of parents, thus contributing to the momentum needed to build a community for our kids. And for ourselves let’s be honest.
Mission-driven newsletter, where I’ve been putting a lot of my guts the past two years, sharing our company journey, our whys, our evolving product, our readings, our doubts and our certainties. Consistently. And then not. It is damn hard to be consistent.
And now this one.
Not sure exactly why. An ego trip, a therapeutic habit, the fear of dying one day and being forgotten, the anticipation of a failing memory, the excitement to re-live moments in the future,…
This blog is a place to write about my challenges and thoughts, as a woman in her 30s, as an entrepreneur, a mom, a sister, a daughter, a friend.
I wasn’t really sure I wanted to share all my wanderings publicly, but then f* it, what is life about, if not growing wiser and figure it out with others. If I am having these thoughts, other folks might as well. And I love that serendipity will be the sole judge of this work. Who knows the cool souls I might encounter, the passionate discussions I might have. What’s certain is that keeping it for myself won’t trigger anything. And that’s too bad.
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