Split Brain
Somewhere along the way, the blog stopped sounding like me. Not because anyone forced it—it just happened as the thing grew. It became a publication: curated, professional, with an image and an audience. I found myself unable to just post anything without worrying about how it would land. A stupid photo. A tangential thought. A random link. Everything had to be an article. Had to fit. Had to matter.
Blogging was always my outlet—like songs for musicians or drawing for artists. You throw the thought out, untangle what’s tangled, and feel lighter. But once the blog became a magazine with writers and photography and proper editing, it stopped being that. You can’t have both curation and honesty at the same intensity. One wins.
So I started something else. A completely private space to post whatever—bad ideas, photos of nothing, half-thoughts. Pointless. Completely mine. Named it Broken Dreams Club.
The main blog keeps growing. It’s exactly what it should be. I’m fine with it not being mine anymore. What I needed was something that was, completely—no audience, no pretense, nothing to prove. I’d forgotten what that felt like. Turns out I missed it more than I realized.