Where does twenty something meltdown fit into my thirties?
Nothing like a new year to motivate you into dreaming whimsically about your blog, your little corner of the internet gathering dust, racking up the pageviews on past posts that still do the rounds on Pinterest. Also nothing like a bout of covid to give you the time to type it, even if the very same virus has prevented you from even opening the lid of your laptop for 6 days.
This blog has seen many variations over the seven years it has been live, starting as an extension to my illustration business, becoming my main focus and passion for years when I was freelance, a side hustle when I first got an office job and over the last few years, existed as a mausoleum to past projects as my time got too busy.
My Instagram bio reads ‘the artist formally known as twenty something meltdown’, a nod to Prince and a homage to the name and the handle I chose all those years ago, before I merged my blog with my business and long before I turned thirty, and envisaged the name change all along.
So where does twenty something meltdown / gwennan rees.com / this blog fit in 2023 as I enter the first year of my thirties? I did think about letting my domain expire and my hosting package run out when it’s set to renew at the end of the month but there’s something about this little patch, with its couple of thousand words on the digital page that makes me keep it alive a little longer.
This blog has seen me through my mid twenties, two jobs, three nieces and one wedding, let alone countless bullet journals and gained me a coupla life long pals along the way, as well as a global pandemic to boot. It’s my history, a journal, a diary and a site full of memories.
I still run my business, albeit a side project, a shadow of it’s former self and with that, comes a few bob to invest in this address year on year. And so while money sits in the coffers, auto renew stays on and this bank of memories remains for me to dip my toes into once or twice a year.
And that’s ok. No more false promises to blog more, the odd brand collab suggestion floating in the inbox, an Instagram grid turned private. No more, no less, a personal journal. Mine.