Steph Not Stephanie

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the blog lately. Or rather, why I haven’t been blogging lately. ‘What about the blog?‘ everybody yelled in unison when I shacked up with Bogart. ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ I sassily retorted. ‘I’m still me, my interests haven’t changed, and more importantly, who I am isn’t changing.’ Oh slightly younger Steph. So cocky to think you could enter a completely new relationship with another human being and remain unchanged.

So what about the blog, hmm? It doesn’t feel like home anymore, at least not in its current state. I don’t have dating stories anymore, and that’s okay. Sure there are humorous things within my relationship (see Twitter), but enough to hinge the entire conceit of a blog on? I think not. Plus there are some things I want to keep private, as hard as that may be to believe about a chronic over sharer like me.

So where does that leave me/us? I still have things to say, things that excite me. Maybe I’ll be entertaining enough as Steph Not Chef, or Tree-Hugging Hippie Steph, or Corporate Writer Person Steph. Or maybe some combination of all of the above. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll go back to writing into the void, before the bad dates and Tinder pickup lines that so defined this space—and in essence, me. And that’s okay too. Because I’ll still be here, and I’ll still be writing, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll still be here with me.