Hello, friends! It’s me, Erin.
So here’s the thing: nearly 14 years ago I started blogging. My friend Julius from work suggested I start one to document all my stories I’d entertain the office with. The archives for that blog are still live at fiercebeagle.com. In fact, I just looked at it the other day. My middle child, Oliver, was just 1 the last time I posted. He’s 9 now.
Since then, my mother-in-law died, I was briefly a foster parent, and I got pregnant and had a third son, Harry. Harry just turned 4. My grandmother who helped raise me died. My paternal grandfather died. But let's not end there (I’m only half Irish, after all). What else? Oh! I halfheartedly hobby-urban-farmed.
A few years ago I picked up blogging again at erinketheridge.com and went for a more loosely thematic structure, but that didn’t stick either. Then I realized why: I don’t want to do this as a job.
Some say I have an aptitude for writing. I’ve certainly always loved it—maybe someday I’ll share the terrifying scrapbook of porcelain doll ads I clipped from magazines and wrote backstories for when I was a kid. A Halloween post, maybe. But I’ve had some successes too.
I recently shared with my comments-section buddies that I had an editorial published in our village newspaper when I was 15. I won honors in high school for writing. I was accepted to a literature conference in Utah in college and won first place for poetry at another conference when I was a senior. But I’ve saved the most prestigious recognition for last: in high school superlatives, I was voted third-most-likely to be a future host of Saturday Night Live.
What I’ve come to accept is that for me, writing is a joy, a hobby. I’m not going to try and earn a living doing this. In fact, I’ve had a major career development in the intervening years; I’m training to be a nurse. After providing end-of-life care for my mother-in-law, I realized that my interest in medicine persisted, an interest I gave up on in college when I realized I couldn’t deal with blood. Amazing what the gruesome process of birthing children will do to cure one of squeamishness!
So here we are. I’m doing this for the joy of it! Like Wordle. (Update: I’ve just received news that Wordle was sold to the New York Times for an undisclosed seven-figure sum. I imagine those millions will also bring its creator joy, so I’ll leave that door open for myself. New York Times, if you’re listening, let’s talk.)
There has been so much left unremarked upon in the raising of my two younger sons, that’s the one thing I regret about not having written regularly for years.
What should I call this thing? I dunno yet. I don’t really know what this blog is About—and that’s part of the joy! Like Seinfeld. (Delusions of grandeur much? Wordle, Seinfeld? What else? I’m the Amanda Gorman of people in their late 30s, how about that.)
Anyway to those three of you who have already subscribed, thank you. It’s nice not shouting into the void. I hope you’ll stick around.
I’m ready and excited!
Hey Erin, I'm in :). Looking forward to it!