I don't know what I'm doing.

I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. It feels great to get that out of the way. I have long thought about creating this blog — you know, the kind of blog an actual adult would have, not the confessional LiveJournal-type blog of my adolescence. I absolutely have the time for one.

Surely, though, nobody would choose to spend time reading another blog from another millennial. This blog has been sitting online, vacant and barren, for weeks now. The free trial period came and went, as did the extension of said free trial. How did you get here, then? How did I even get here?

I started reading this book, How to Write an Autobiographical Novel, recently. Naturally, now that I actually collected myself enough to post this, I have finished both that book and another. In essay after essay, Alexander Chee walked readers through his adolescence, his activism, and his experiences as an aspiring author. One passage piqued my interest and, for reasons unknown, inspired me to actually do something with this blog.

You are the only one of you, she said. Your unique perspective, at this time, in our age, whether it’s on Tunis or the trees outside your window, is what matters. Don’t worry about being original, she said dismissively. Yes, everything’s been written, but also, the thing you want to write, before you wrote it, was impossible to write. Otherwise it would already exist. Your writing it makes it possible.
— Alexander Chee, relaying Annie Dillard

Sure, perhaps everything I could possibly imagine writing has already appeared elsewhere. Perhaps nobody would choose to read this blog. But you did. You read this blog — probably because you felt bad/I made you, but you read this blog.

I don't even know what about those words moved me enough to write these words. I would never turn this into a literary analysis. I don't know what you came here for, but I know you didn't come here for that. (For the record, I don't even know what I came here for. I said I don't know what I'm doing twice and, now, that's more true than ever.)

I just know those words made me want to write, and I haven't felt like writing for some time. I had initially deleted this page from the template you see now but, when I switched templates midway through, the blog reappeared. Begging, pleading, taunting me. 

I thought. I planned. I wrote notes. I stopped. I wrote down some words. I drank more Starbucks Refreshers than usual, though I blame the recent heat wave and not procrastination. I wrote some more. I stopped. I grew lazy. I abandoned everything. I came back. I wrote even more. 

Sidenote: I cannot recommend the new Starbucks Mango Dragonfruit Refresher enough but, because they keep running out, please never get one for yourself. I need them.

I thought this page should include past work examples, projects I helped develop, campaigns I helped execute, and stories from the most — okay, yeah, only — interesting part of my life. (See the photo below.) Would those be enough? Would those entice you enough? Would you really come back for more? Can you see why this took me so long?

 Prime Minister Justin Trudeau toured the Stratford Festival on August 25, 2017. In the bottom left corner, I appear to be slacking off. Adam Scotti captured the scene from above.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau toured the Stratford Festival on August 25, 2017. In the bottom left corner, I appear to be slacking off. Adam Scotti captured the scene from above.

I then realized I have lots, and lots and lots and lots, of thoughts. Many of them are too long for Twitter, and I greatly dislike Twitter threads. Functionally, they seem fine. Good work. Aesthetically? Pass. I never found myself jumping aboard the Tumblr bandwagon, I would never subject anyone to my hypothetical podcasts on Soundcloud, and you can see long Instagram captions have never been my thing.

What does that leave, then? This. That leaves this. Please excuse the mess, but come back soon for more. More quality content, not more mess. Plus, you'll just have to come back and see what I've thrown on here. (Trust me, it'll be a surprise for me too.)

Riley Lange