Hey! It’s me! Cassidy! From the internet (among other places)!

If our life paths had not yet crossed circa October 2021, you may not know that I used to intermittently write blog posts and then send them out to people who may or may not have actually asked to receive them.

However, just like a rebellious teen at band camp, my (blogging) abstinence has officially ended and not only have I returned to this silly little corner of the internet, but I have totally revamped it.*

^{*Previous followers may fondly remember the weird toe fungus ads that used to litter the pages of my posts. No longer. I am now a ~real~ blogger who pays for her own domain.}

Please join me in celebrating by perusing the following collection of gifs that were culturally relevant in 2006.

Now that we've adequately celebrated, you may be asking what kept me away for so long.

Have I been tromping around Sodom and Gomorrah soliciting concubines with my prematurely obtained inheritance shouting “good riddance blog followers” into the night sky?

Have I been living off the grid with only a small porcupine and a handful of textured chestnuts for company?

Have I joined a rural polygamist cult that prevents me from sharing original thoughts and ideas outside my tight knit community of sister wives?

No.

I actually have been writing quite a bit. And yet, this blog has remained rather void of new content...Why?

I have two opposing theories that I shall explore in further detail below:

1. My writing repertoire has become too expansive and sophisticated to dedicate time to a punchy little blog filled with long-winded musings.
2. I am a perfectionist who doesn't actually believe that any of said musings merit a spot in the public eye in the first place.

This blog is now beneath me

"Expansive and sophisticated" is, perhaps, a stretch.

Over the past two years, the majority of my recreational writing efforts have gone to stand-up comedy. Instead of writing blog posts about falling in a puddle whilst running to class or awkward encounters with peers trying to zipper my backpack, I share these quirky life happenings on stage with roomfuls of strangers, desperately hoping for an occasional tepid chuckle.

I passionately believe in the value of comedy and its deep impact on the world, but sharing stories about my poop with the internet can hardly qualify as cosmopolitan. The blog ⭢ standup pipeline is a strictly lateral maneuver in terms of sophistication, which brings us to theory number two.

I am a perfectionist and afraid of failure

Whether or not it is the root of my lack of blogging, this one is true. My Google drive is filled with fledgling ideas that asymptotically inch towards completion without ever seeming to arrive. (See below if you are a visual learner and/or like graphs.)

Whether it be the premise for a joke or a point of theological pondering, I often come to my keyboard full of vigor and inspiration, naively confident that this particular idea is going to change hearts and minds.

And then I get stuck.

Because I know what I want to say (kind of) but I don’t know how to articulate my thoughts clearly. Or 60% of what I’ve written feels like it’s worth sharing but everything else is so blasé I’ll never allow it to see the light of day.

So, it doesn’t.

Which is okay. Sometimes.*

^{*Though I do believe that sharing my writing is worthwhile, I am also confident that not every word I write deserves a spot in the public ether. That would be mortifying for me and repulsively boring for everyone else. Our world could use a dose or two more of self-censorship when it comes to sharing content on the internet.}

Ironically, the mediums by which I tend to express myself were designed for imperfection. Blogs are short form, unrefined stream of consciousness: ways to share ideas without excessive revision. Open mics are platforms for trying out unfinished jokes to see how they work in front of a crowd. If I can’t write something that’s “good enough” to share in front of two stoned dudes in Ed Hardy t-shirts that use their time onstage to postulate why their Tinder dates keep ghosting them, then the world of standup comedy is simply not for me.

The loudest voices in my head often prevent me from sharing ideas unless they are deemed profound and polished and practically perfect. To reference everyone’s third favorite character from the cinematic masterpiece Night at the Museum, these voices scoff at the idea of entering the arena unless victory is guaranteed. They’re happy to judge from the sidelines, constantly convincing me that it’s better to retreat into oblivion than to be seen as wrong or disagreeable or mediocre. They think they’re doing me a favor by tearing me down before anyone else has the opportunity.

I cognitively understand that silencing myself is counterproductive in the pursuit of excellence, but it has been my default for so long that each step outside the tiny box of control within which I exist feels confusing, overwhelming and wrong. And yet, as I continue to grow, so does the value of confronting these conditioned boundaries despite the deep discomfort and vulnerability this venture entails.

It's a delicate balance: I’d hate to overcorrect to the point of becoming one of those bloggers, whose excess of self-important rambling requires me to scroll through paragraphs of fiestaware recommendations in order to find out what kind of oil to use for stovetop popcorn, but I’d also hate to continue to leave words unsaid simply because it’s uncomfortable to push through feelings of mediocrity.

So here I am. I have returned for the same reason I started this whole venture six years ago and the same reason I make myself tell jokes in front of my Ed Hardy-clad bros (brethren?): I like to write. And, unlike Irish hip-hop, I have a talent for it. A talent I can’t develop without practice and feedback.

Over the past several months, I have become more convinced than ever of the power and necessity of words and storytelling. If something I write can make one person feel understood, if a joke I tell can bring joy to one person’s day, then those things are worth sharing, those jokes worth telling. Screw the haters (i.e. my own internal voice), you know?

So there you have it. I’m back. And I invite your feedback and rebuke.

Disagree with me. Tell me I’m wrong. My generation is too coddled; I could use thicker skin.

And as I’ve said since day one, this is my corner of the internet, so for those looking for something with a little more intrigue and panache, feel free to check out michaeljacksonsightings.com.