When I was younger, I wrote about everything. Every ex-boyfriend had an essay with some ambiguous title that didn't need to be ambiguous because there, in the second or third paragraph was his full name, copied and stapled and stacked before being handed around to each person in my Creative Writing workshop at Longwood, where they would circle and slash and write character notes in the margins.

What our relationship had meant to me was the only thing I could ever wrap my head around and I never even thought to wonder how these people in my stories might feel about the fact that I was sharing our story with a group of people they didn't know.

Over time, I learned to stop over-sharing so much in my writing, which I'm sure sounds ridiculous because I write a blog about my life for a living. The other day I put together a reader survey because sometimes I worry that I sit around all day boring or irritating you. One person mentioned that I seemed very distant lately; that I am starting to come off as impersonal and artificial. And I think that person was right.

Because the story of the death of someone else's loved one or that time your friend came out of the closet or someone else's divorce isn't usually just hanging there for us, ripe for the picking. I have told some of these stories before and I look back on them with a bit of regret.

But when you write everything, how do you process life without sharing it? I'm still trying to figure it out.

I apologize for the vagueness and the impersonality that has lingered around here lately. I want you to know that I'm here, that I have been going through something, and that I feel it, but most of it isn't my story to tell. Maybe one day I'll find a way to tell you about it, but until then--whether you know it or not--I take a lot of comfort in the belief that we're all in this life thing together.

It's been chilly and a bit rainy here in Minneapolis this week, and I've taken several morning walks around my neighborhood in yoga pants and my favorite hoodie--an old thing from J.Crew that's light blue and super thin. I must have spilled coffee or something on it at some point and never noticed, because for as long as I can remember it's had a faint little stain on the pocket that won't come out, but I don't care enough to get rid of the thing.

I've been packing this week. It's funny, what you find when you pick up and move--I haven't even been here for a year yet, but there are plenty of things to discard from last August. And yet, as usual, there are more, and better things to hold on to.

We got an apartment in Charlotte this week, and two nights ago I filled in my part of the lease online. It was the first time I labeled myself as "self-employed" on anything official. It was exciting but also a little scary--as I entered my estimated monthly income and it became really apparent that this thing I'm doing here isn't really a hobby anymore. I love it just as much (if not more) than I did when I first started out, and the goal was to blog as though it were my job during my time in Minneapolis. As much as I wanted to succeed, there was always (and is always) a part of me that kind of expects to fail.

I remember the discussion Rob and I had about me joining him in Minnesota. I was still working for a software company in Roanoke, and while it wasn't exactly what I had dreamed of doing with my life, I realized that at 24, I had a pretty good deal going (and plenty of time to make changes). My family's dog was old and I wasn't ready to leave him yet, but I also felt overwhelmed at the thought of quitting my job to live somewhere else for only a year. What would I do? I had student loans and felt fairly certain that no one would hire me to work somewhere for less than twelve months. I had always wanted to put more time and effort into my blog, but it didn't seem like a responsible decision yet. I am so thankful for Rob's support and encouragement to just give it a chance. So I gave my notice, packed my things, and kept blogging.

And here we are, almost a year later, packing up for a new city that we will, with any luck, call home for the next several years. Maybe I'll find my dream job in Charlotte. Maybe I'll continue doing what I'm doing and eventually accept the possibility that my dream is already here. I don't know what's next for me yet, but I do know that I wouldn't be where I am without the constant love and support I have had the blessing of knowing.

Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.

Disclosure: Compensation was provided by State Farm via Mode Media. The opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are not indicative of the opinions or positions of State Farm.

This morning I woke up ready to get some work done. 

I sat down at the computer and plugged in my camera's memory card reader--it's a normal thing and I do it often. But for some reason, nothing went right. I'm really not much of a computer person so it was just the most frustrating thing, to have this little cord that works every other day just up and abandon me. I bundled up and walked to the Target down the street for a new one (did you know that it was 20 degrees and snowy this morning in Minneapolis? Happy April!), only to come home to find that this one isn't working either. In unplugging and re-plugging and uninstalling and downloading the drivers, I found myself in tears. It's sad because in the grand scheme of things, this is So Not A Big Deal. But sometimes you just need to feel pathetic and cry into your almond butter and sliced bananas.

I constantly teeter between feeling really confident in my blogging/business and wondering if I'm wasting everyone's time or not. Like waking up and writing things for this blog is a silly way to spend a day.

When I do have a paying project to share, and things go wrong, I can't figure out if I'm upset because I failed in some way, or because deep down I wonder if anyone will even notice. When I am productive, I've written several blog posts or recipes and taken pictures and there are people out there who perform brain surgery. When I put it into that context, my job often feels more like a "job."

I love this blog, though, because it is such a connecting force in my life, and I get emails from wonderful people and become friends with you guys when I would have never known you in a different world where Twitter didn't exist. So I'll continue, even when I lose it over some photos I can't get off my camera and it makes me feel like the world's biggest narcissist.