As I embark on this long-awaited launch and rebranding of myself, I have to get some things off my chest.
It’s 3 a.m. on a Sunday. This is the best time of day for me. I don’t need a lot of sleep to feel refreshed—but I also don’t need much awake time to get tired these days either. I can’t help but think of my dad, who somehow survived on just a few hours of sleep a night. He was up late and early. Maybe it was a habit left over from being a combat vet in WWII.
I’ll tip my hat and pass by the momentary temptation to suggest that living through decades of the AIDS epidemic might excuse some of my own leanings into PTSD and late-night rituals.
I like to write. I like to write about myself, but I also love telling the stories of others—especially people who don’t or won’t write about themselves. Let’s see where this goes.
I’m in a new home and a new country. I’m still trying to find the hook and the angle to explain just how I got here, and what first attracted me to Colombia. It’s personal. But I’ve never been shy about sharing personal stories. In fact, I’ve been told I overshare. So be it.
Yesterday, I launched my new blog. It shares my name. It is my storyboard. My scrapbook. My photo album.
But blogs have become blasé, I’m told. Now we have the evolutionary spawn of blogging: Insta, X (ugh), YouTube, TikTok, and more platforms than I can keep track of—let alone use well. Oh, and now Substack. What’s an old, not-so-old queer writer to do?
Well, I’m doing what I’ve always done: adapt, adopt, and embrace.
It’s compulsive and it’s obsessive. So many new learning curves. So much fake-it-’til-you-make-it. Just when I think I know WordPress inside and out, someone decides we need “blocks.” It’s easier, they say. You just drag and click. Maybe they’re right. A year from now, I might join the chorus of delight. But for now, I resent every detour that keeps me from actually writing.
A lot of this shiny new technology feels like a distraction from my real objectives.
But it is something to write about this morning, as I try to clear the clutter from my life, my move, and my desk—which is actually the dining room table, because… well, that’s another story.
Stories. That’s what I want to do. I want to write again. I want to be a channel for others to tell their stories, too.
💬 Did you have a blog back in the day? Are you still writing? Tell me where your voice lives now—or just leave a trace in the comments.
💸 If you’d like to support this wandering storyteller, you can toss a coin in the exile jar here: https://ko-fi.com/jondbarnett. No paywall. Just gratitude.
