The Things I Keep Not Making

Gentle Things is almost a year old. In that time I have done a lot of things: been on some trips, helped my American husband move to Canada, gotten sick then gotten better, gotten sick again then gotten pretty much better again. During that year, I've also thought about writing blog posts almost every single day, and yet I've written very few — spending much of the time I could have been writing thinking about WHY I'm not writing, why I'm not doing the thing I said I wanted to do.

Which is a shame, because I started Gentle Things for reasons that still matter to me, and still make me happy when I think of them. I missed the way the internet used to feel — earnest, human, full of discovery. I wanted a little nook to escape to. Somewhere cosy and warm that is also inspiring. I wanted to share things that feel particularly lovely or special or important. And I still want all of that. The wanting isn’t the issue, really, the sharing consistently is the part I'm struggling with.

Here are some of the things I tell myself when I don't write the posts, or make the thing I want to make:
No one cares.
I'm tired.
I just want it to be done, I don't actually have the patience to do/make it.
I don't even know what I'm making.
The internet isn't a safe place. Don’t share yourself.
And then there's the big one: there is already too much noise. So much content, so many people saying so many things — in essays, into cameras, too many opinions — that I sometimes can't think straight, and whatever I might add feels insignificant. Like showing up at a farmers market, going: "Hey guys, does anyone want to see this tiny cherry tomato I grew on my balcony?"

Also, if I'm being honest, my consumption versus creation ratio is completely off. I watch too many people's videos and read too many people's essays, and somewhere in all of that my own voice gets very quiet, crowded out by everyone else's way of seeing things. I sit down to write and what comes out sounds like something I've already read.

There's also the matter of the kind of person the internet seems to reward, and my limited interest in being her. Optimized, consistent, endlessly energetic. She’s figured out the algorithm! She posts on a schedule! She has a colour-coated content calendar, a ring light and a signature sign-off! I don't have any of those things, and don’t I particularly want them. What I have instead is a running list of places that make me feel the most good, a complicated relationship with where I want to live, and a feeling that there is a different way to do this. A gentler, more human way. I just haven't entirely figured it out yet.

I don’t pretend to have the solution to getting yourself to do the things you want to do but aren’t. I suppose wouldn’t be writing this post if I did. But, lately, what I’m trying to come back to is why I started Gentle Things in the first place. Which wasn’t to build a brand or reach X amount of followers but, simply, because I believe there is still room on the internet for something earnest. Something that feels like a letter from a friend rather than a pitch from a stranger. Something that connects us with goodness and beauty and hope. And my hope is to share more of that here, in this second year of Gentle Things.

Thank you so much for being here, one year in. Happy birthday to us! xo.