When I was a child, there were two things I wanted to be when I grew up: Miss America, and the first female President of the United States. I remember worrying that someone would beat me to that second job, but as it turns out, my age may end up being about right (althought probably not my credentials, at this point).
I had given up my dreams of fame and fortune by my late teens, and knew that what I really wanted to do was become my mother (congratulate me, because I have totally accomplished this goal — just ask any of my siblings). But once in awhile, that old dream of becoming famous crops up. There’s a little part of me that will always pine to be Kristin Chenowith (only a little taller, and an alto). I’m listening to NPR and start wondering what it would take to become a correspondent. Or even a local newscaster — I know I’m at least as smart as some of those people, though my hair is all wrong. What about those commercials featuring normal-looking people? Could I get voice-over work? Could Matt and I be on The Amazing Race?
Tell me you watched Julie and Julia (great movie) and wondered what kind of blog you could start that would turn you into Julie Powell. Or Amy Adams. Why is she so approachable and normal even though she’s beautiful and talented? Doesn’t she make you think you could be a movie star? Or just me?
I know I’m not the only person who harbors these yearnings for fame. Otherwise, how would they ever get anyone to go on The Bachelor? Or Wife Swap? But, my pop-psychology self-analysis, and this is based on years of careful study at the feet of Oprah and Dr. Phil, is that I don’t truly want to be famous. What I need is validation. I need to have a voice. I need you to know who I am.
Being home without another adult for weeks at a time may be making these needs greater, as my very loving spouse does provide me some validation when he happens to be in the country (he tries on the phone, but it’s not quite the same). So I’m coming back to this blog.
I stopped blogging regularly when my kids were home all summer and didn’t find the energy for it again all fall. I kept saying I didn’t have time to blog, but the truth is, I was spending hours every week reading other people’s blogs. The truth is, I didn’ t have the will to write. I would talk myself out of posting things, because they sounded stupid to me. I would feel mortified reading my own writing, kind of like I feel when I see myself on video. How’s that for ironic? I’m sure Kristin Chenowith doesn’t feel mortified when she watches herself on Glee!
Now I’m thinking this post sounds stupid. But I’m going to post it anyway. And I’m going to try to blog every day for awhile, and see how that goes. I know I’m not going to become famouse like Dooce, but I need validation, people! And I might as well have something to do in the evening, because I don’ t have cable, and the TV situation is just getting worse and worse (exhibit A: Conveyor Belt of Love).