instagram – Frozen Spaghetti

Rumor on the street is that blogging is making a comeback.

I suppose it makes sense. For most of us bloggers, (Frozen Spaghetti started in 2011), we started a long time ago in a way that appeased an early ambition for a side hustle. As Instagram grew and gave the impression of a blogger interface with a shorter, less expectant time frame, I know for me, at least – I came to LOOOOOVE how easy IG made it to get to the point.

I had a major pause in posting here on WordPress.

Where a picture of a Horse Ear on Frozen Spaghetti made me sit for multiple nights – even coming back to the post years later – trying to capture my draw to the horse ear, Instagram gave me permission to simply post a picture of the ear with whatever I felt in that very moment. “Do you hear what I hear?” and people who wanted to would get the point.

No uploading, arranging, bolding and emphasizing needed. Maybe a heart emoji… but even that came later.

As aforementioned ambition for a side hustle grew into actual side hustle grew into hey-yo this is my profession, a lot of those early blog loving content creators had to trade their storytelling in “to the man”. I think the cup of tea & foggy morning approach to writing on WordPress became the long lost best friend to those for whom the visual arts, sound entertainment and quick byte culture proved itself capable of being quite time-consuming, frustrating and – well, expensive as they require a whole new assembly line for a product that needs to sell the actual product.

As a blogger who doesn’t even ask you to “chip in a dollar” to “buy me a cup of coffee” to “show your appreciation for the work”, I will tell you an artful blog (who eats the $99 for you to read my nonsense ad free) is the still IG picture post in a world full of “Grandma’s Best Thanksgiving Stuffing Ever this FALL FAVORITE BEST did I say BEST already it’s Thanksgiving and this is my FAVORITE BEST STUFFING EVER, I LOVE Grandma! Best. Stuffing. #Thanksgiving” .

Was that obnoxious? Good. I thought so.

As a person who loves a good reel, my most popular reels in terms of views and shares have been off content I have taken on the fly, mixed in a minute and shared with pretty must little to no thought other than whatever comes from the core of the operation: my inspo.

The ones I tried to do? Ugh. Gross. Made me stop doing it.

Why do I bring this up? Well, primarily because one of my closest friends is passionate about this – so, she naturally inspires me to, at minimum, reflect.

Keyword: Inspires.

So here is my reflection. Reels, Blogs, Posts, Sound, Pin.

How about we all agree marketing is best when inspired?

(Or Is that too Emily in Paris of me?)

It takes talent to write an artful blog. It takes strategy to write a successful one.

But both take inspiration.

Heart. Patience. And People.

My blog was for me. But now it’s also, in a way, for you.

179 people get an email in their inbox when I hit the blue “Publish” button, and – you know what? That’s kinda cool.

And, real quick, going back to what I said about not having a donate button. For me? I don’t want YOUR money.

I want a publishing house and a Netflix deal and maybe a ride at Disney.

And then I want those people to go get all the money for me. hahaha :)

I don’t need you to buy me a cup of coffee (though I will let you take me out to lunch) when I need my writing to buy me a house. <SO TRUE>

“What you can offer now?”, you ask?

What matters to me?

A: Your listening ear. Your attendance.

Sharing a post or writing a review or inviting somebody to a class.

I for sure get SO much encouragement chatting with your relaxed self after an experience stretching, listening, sharing or singing along.

You can start with a comment on this here blog post. I got TWO the other day and THANK YOU Alyssa & Anonymous. Made my freaking day.

Every single part of my evolution thus far in my life has been off of my distinct belief that you cannot be wrong unless you’re trying to be right, that what comes natural to you should be what you spend your time doing and – lastly – above all costs, take care of your heart & treat with respect your power to form an opinion and…

well…

That if I ask for a fish, I won’t get a serpent.

Live your life according to your values, know who you are, and stay true to what you truly want.

The rest will unfold exactly as it should, which will partly be unforeseen & surprising.

Live inspired. Reel or Blog. Church or Studio. Hike or Kayak. Whatever. Just live your life.

And maybe, while you’re at it, enjoy Grandma’s Favorite Stuffing and make the Best Thanksgiving Ever come to life.

goose

Allow me to build on my sentiment,

“I legit expect my kids to follow me following the goose”…

In my earliest year as a mother (age: 23), I remember turning my infant’s life over to the greater connected protection of the universe, The Big Love.

I sat, uneasy in the rocking chair, playing back the previous night’s episode of Law and Order, special victims unit in a post 9/11, post Columbine afternoon.

The curtains hung in the dusk-dusted nursery where a summer nap was being kept at bay. I was restless, contemplating these evils in humanity and how to shield her outside of my arms.

In this glimpse of fear, I began to wake and consider something new. Sunlight broke through the curtains, striking the diamond on my left ring finger and curiosity on how to live differently started to dance around the room like a fairy. Both sets of our eyes watched the chase of light I directed about with turns of my wrist.

“No,” I said to fear.

I did not want to “mother afraid”.

I did not want to “worry all the time”.

I did not want the pressure of “best” or the perceived stain of “worst”.

I did not want the responsibility of her story or her decisions. Or – somehow seemingly worse – I did not want her carrying the weight of my own, personal regret.

In between that afternoon, where I “turned her over” to good, (understanding as death is possible, life is possible) and the first time I watched her crawl in accord with her own curiosity away from where I sat under a park tree, the seed of trust I allowed to grow within turned my motherhood journey into a continual invitation to Ellen (and eventually her sister, Lucy) to follow my lead.

This trust evolved and my heart began to tumble down the hill of change.

I did not want to be an obvious American mother, repeatedly getting her toddler out of a minivan for errands – adorned in college mascot or MLB bird alike.

I did not want to be continually sold cleverly colored shoebox size shoeboxes for my shoes.

This evolution of self began shifting my experiences as – if I was about to do something just because I thought I should: I questioned it.

I chose differently.

I leaned into what I feared.

I practiced media literacy.

I prayed. I changed. I planted. I grew.

Rhianna enforced afternoons in the Jeep, combing back the long way towards home from the zoo. Pizza adorned fingernails washed up in the historic tub of an ABQ lavender farm, watching sharks in Denver… trying Turkish delight in Park City…

I took on my life; them incorporated.

Our stories are plentiful, meaningful and thick. The meaning of being their leader, their goose, is never lost on me. In and out of the car, into museums and onto the plane: they have followed me.

Unlike the goose (though their personal notice is at least consistent in advertising inconsistency and temperament), I offer, give and set expectations to and of my daughters.

To live without fear seems to still require managing a certain civilian “pay attention” mindset, all while gauging the fine traumatic line of projecting one’s own experience // being careful to avoid infusing too much of the state of the world into predictions of the future.

Indeed. This is the paradox of being more than a “goose goose” or a Mother Goose; pecking rhyme-based rhythm and order.

Aha! See, to be an actual goose, living both into her future and ushering her goslings into their own, ballet slippers are worn making spaghetti while adult lessons yield for the child’s.

With a Pinterest board as lively as her child’s friendships and a dress that fits as accurately as her child’s pants, the mother’s quest stays aware of the child’s. Forever seizing teachable moments to promote the child’s own understanding of motivations, experience and truth.

For in this way, I suppose, the child may equally become a goose.

(PS: the original, straight forward version: https://frozenspaghetti.com/2019/08/04/the-original/)