When I was a teenager, one of my New Year’s Eve traditions was to write a very detailed and cohesive list of the best and worst from the last 365 days of my life. Pages and pages in my diary, from who was my best friend to my favourite piece of clothing I’d loved that year. Who I had a crush on. My favourite song. I even had a favourite subway station. Every moment of my year was scrupulously documented until my hand started to cramp.
I’ve never been the most consistent blogger; my content tends to be whatever I feel like spewing forth in a constant stream of consciousness, whether it’s once a week or once a month. I felt guilty for not posting, and cringed at the number of drafts I had on my laptop that probably would never see the light of day. Last year I wanted to post during Veganuary, but I got so sidetracked I missed the whole month of January. I wanted to post during Clerkenwell, and Fashion Week, but was so busy writing reports for work or show write-ups for magazines that I just never got around to it. I didn’t respond to PR emails to do reviews, because I spent so much time worrying I wouldn’t have the time. I’m also so self critical abut my own writing that it would take endless hours to edit a post into oblivion; by the end I’d be muttering to myself and swearing at the cat. I never wanted to have a niche, but felt obligated to shoehorn myself into one on the off chance it made me feel more like a blogger.
So fuck it. It dawned on my recently that I’m really happy with my job, my business, my home, my life, and my friends. My blog was meant to be an outlet to vent and to share the things I adore and I despise. I’m a feminist, but that doesn’t mean I only ever want to write about my hatred of the patriarchy. Sometimes I just want to wax lyrical about my new shoes. I’m a vegan and I only buy cruelty free, but I wouldn’t call myself a vegan blogger because I write about other topics as well. I mean I once bashed out a whole post that didn’t even mention food once.
Last year I went on my first non-work related holiday abroad in years. I do quite a bit of travel as part of my job, and my boss sometimes lets me tack on an extra day at the end of a business trip, but it’s just not the same. Last March I found a deal on a holiday to Prague, and I booked it before I managed to talk myself out of going. It was the best thing I could have done.
Scotland isn’t that big. England isn’t that far. In fact, it’s only a 2 hour flight to most of mainland Europe, and considering last year I managed to make it to Newcastle twice, London umpteen times, Glasgow, Winchester, Antwerp, Brussels, Paris, Prague, Brno, and Toronto, I have zero excuse not to actually get my butt on a train or a plane to visit some of the friends I’ve been wanting to see for years. In 2017 I got to hang out with old friends I’d not seen in almost a decade, and meet so many new friends I’d never spent time with IRL. I stayed in a treehouse, saw Metallica play a concert in Belgium, got a tour of Brno castle, ate cake and doughnuts at my favourite vegan cafe in Toronto, and went to my favourite festival in the world. I danced a lot.
So in 2018 I’m going to do more of the things that make me happy. Drink rum out of watermelons, spend time with good people, wear all the velvet at once, snuggle my dog, cook for friends, stew apples for my flatmate, and stuff my face with all the vegan pies. I’m going to Copenhagen, and Paris, and Berlin. For fun. Maybe I’ll even blog about some of it. I want to write about the things I care about, whether it’s politics, feminism, puppies, or an indie designer I just can’t get enough of.
I won’t apologise for it either.