Hi,
I am Rachael, and this is my website and as you have perhaps concluded, it’s basically a portfolio website. However, I love to read and I love to write. In fact, I am currently 65,000 words into my own novel. A story about a 1920s detective who discovers a magical neon city beneath Chicago’s streets. It’s a bit of magical realism I suppose, but I’m not really getting overly hung up on which genre I am writing in, I’m just writing a story that’s been in my head since High School and although I have done a lot of research and plotting and planning, the characters in my head have been leading the way, and it’s taken twists and turns I honestly didn’t expect but I find it a good romp just the same.
I wanted to start this blog to share about my writing, but also the books I’ve been reading (a lot of contemporary romance, if truth be told; sometimes you need an escape. But that’s not all I read; I do like classics and history and adventure). I am burnt out on social media, been on Instagram since the beginning, and I just don’t want to post anymore. I don’t want to make reels and stress about providing content that has to be short and sweet because people now lack attention spans, amongst other things. I want to ramble and write and not feel pigeonholed into needing to put some version of me on the internet that can never really truly be authentic because it’s all essentially curated, little perfect snippets of a life. I feel like Instagram has just become a highlight reel masquerade that makes me feel small and like I’m failing, and I just can’t bear it most of the time. I want to support creators; I know they need the likes and the views, and I do care, but I don’t want to post; I don’t want to play the game of buying someone's short-lived attention so some number can validate my worth as a human with thoughts. So, although blogging (I should say successful blogging) does also rely on numbers and a game of sorts, it’s slow; it requires attention and time of the viewer… I mean, I'm asking people to read, something they seem to avoid at all costs; and that feels better.
I want slow and joyous and real. I value honesty, and honestly, I just am sick of the world and the games and the politicians who say they care but are full of shit, governments that are just corporations and everyone out for themselves, while the people who actually give a shit just can only reach so far, its wrong and unjust and enough to make you loose faith in humans, which is beyond depressing. I want to believe that humans can be better than what we’ve become. That we can remember who and what we share this miracle floating rock with. The mere fact that we exist at all is frankly mind-blowing, but that we exist next to such wise animals and the trees and the ocean and this whole little world that keeps spinning on its axis and providing us what we need to even be sitting on it. That’s miraculous, and I’m so angry about how it’s treated, how we treat our cousins, the animals, because we are. They are family; we are related, same with all the trees. Just because the majority of us lack the ability to communicate outside of our own reflections and language does not equal our superiority or otherness. I just, ugh. If humans could get off their pedestal of thinking they are above and superior to all else, we could be so much more and so much better.
Again, off on a rant, but that’s probably going to be par for the course here. And, honestly, I have very very very low expectations that anyone will actually read these rambling thoughts; this, honestly, is for me. One action I’m taking to voice my thoughts, get out of a comfort zone of being hidden and silent I’ve slowly encapsulated myself in over the last 7ish years. I’ve gotten very comfortable with holding my tongue, of not really being perceived because I was tired and hurt and not wanting to have to fight or argue; I wanted peace. But on the inside I’ve been screaming and rattling the cage because I don’t like it in here; I’ve never really liked it, but it was easier. This quiet version of me isn’t really me; it’s just who I thought I had to become. Fewer opinions said out loud means fewer arguments with people who will not listen or change, etc. Besides, it’s uncomfortable to be vulnerable, to share your thoughts, to face internet trolls that think their opinions and judgements are needed or at all wanted. It’s an inevitability when sharing a part of yourself on the internet, I suppose, even inevitable amongst your family and friends, acquaintances, just other people living in your vicinity really. This is especially true if you’re sensitive and have been told how embarrassing that is to be, how inferior it is that you feel so much. So tired of hearing you’re moody, emotional, blah blah blah… I just fucking feel it all and so much, and half of it isn’t even mine! Don’t tell me to buck up. Don’t tell me I’m being weak! You can come exist in my mind and body and deal with how being empathetic and sensitive feels, and then you can shove it all down and pretend to be calm, cool, and collected and unbothered because by God, we wouldn’t want to show any emotion or that we care or that we feel, because all those things are for the weak. What hogwash; feeling is strength- what a lie we try to force on each other about having emotions and giving a shit. I still struggle crying if I’m not alone; I feel beyond humiliated for having feelings… and I just think that’s so wrong, yet I still am ashamed to shed a tear. Sadly, in this current reality we find ourselves in together, we do not value empathy, and it’s fucking disgusting.
Well, I suppose that’s enough exposure therapy and me ranting for one day. A total eclipse day too, astrologically speaking- a pretty interesting day to decide to start a blog… but maybe that’s exactly what was supposed to happen today.
I know I won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but I don’t need to be. So, stay if you want. Maybe I’ll continue to let the self-imprisoned version of me say things here I have been silently seething about. There’s quite a lot; don’t get me started on men not crying in Nolan’s The Odyssey… the one thing men needed to see, that they could still be manly and have a good cry and a hug, and he didn’t include it! In the translation I read, those men were crying about everything, and it was beautiful. Okay, seriously, I’m done.
Later alligators,
Rachael