The whole day today, or much of it, I kept ping-ponging all about my head concerning me as a blogger, and writer, and am I really a ‘Lifestyle Blogger”? Can life be styled? Am I that concerned with style? I really never have been. Maybe that’s something I should change, I don’t know. What I do know is who I am, and what I do. It’s singular, but not. If you read the description of my blog, it cites that I’m a father, writer, runner, wine lover, teacher. That’s not one arena, it’s at times to me too much. So is each arena its own “style”? Or is that fact that I have so many interests and topics its own autonomous style, or genre, or thematic consistency?
Always stressing to my students, “Don’t overthink it!” And here I am, over-overthinking. What can I do, it’s who I am I guess. Part of my style, you might read. Look at how I write, so fast and frantic especially after a couple cups of coffee early in the morning, ‘round 5. Now the day ends, with me letting the students out a bit early and I assume the other stylized role of ‘father’. These other lifestyle bloggers that I read occasionally, and the few that I follow, have several interests but even still there’s a principle consistency to their story. What do I want my dominant voice to urge? Is it the wine? NO. Running? Maybe. Being a father? Yes, that’s a must. Teaching? Oh yes, yes yes yes… Okay, so a father who runs and writes and teaches… There, is that my style? What else am I allowed to add? How about how I want to de-clutter, eat healthier, workout more, get up earlier… Can that be in my mode, or design? Or, story? Yes, my story. Life can be styled, but it’s more interesting I’ve found and certainly more revealing when it’s truthful, when the narrator shares what they’ve learned, when there’s a truthful story. Not some account that’s been conveniently dressed or shaped or contorted.
Guy I work with at the winery today that he’s nearing an embark upon a “complete lifestyle change”, affirming more healthy habits and different cuisine tendencies. This only furthered the intense beat of my wondering, “What’s MY style to life? MY, lifestyle?” I found his words inspiring and I could tell he was serious. And no, it’s not some situational dressing or pose he’s about to assume, it’s more a re-writing of his story, which again I only find charging and a sharp and stark order to me to do the same. So when do I start? Tonight.
Throw everything on desk either away or in the garage. Get it out of your sight. Then, do anywhere from 50 to 100 pushups. How do I define that style? I don’t know, motivated, maybe? Life is most assuredly there to be styled, but only how we want it so. Not a consequence or ripple from external pressures or marketing.
The ping-ponging ends, and I have a new style to start. More work for the runner-writing-teacher-father to do.