4 Livejournal blogs
3 Tumblr blogs
2 WordPress blogs
2 Blogger blogs
2 Twitter accounts
1 Youtube account (“vlogging” included)
Multiple Photobucket accounts
1 Flickr Pro account
1 Myspace
1 Facebook
Some are deleted, some abandoned, some are secret, some could perhaps damage a political career one day–nothing scandalous, really, just embarrassing. And who knows how many other virtual accounts I’ve signed up for on a whim, never to return again?
Photographing, documenting, procrastinating, connecting, posing, rambling, lurking, ogling, life planning, list making, goal keeping, creative writing, soul searching…
A trail of my life’s breadcrumbs scattered throughout the internet, for many reasons, yet never encompassing it as fully as I’d like. But that’s a big job, isn’t it, capturing my life, my essence, authentically? Perhaps I’ve been overlooking the secret all along…
I needed my own domain name.
Sure.
Or maybe, after recent life changes–involving relationships, moving, graduating with my Master’s–I’m just itching for yet another fresh start, like the blank journals I’ve collected over the years, setting aside (but never discarding) each diary for a new one before it’s a quarter filled. But I have one I’ve been loyal to for a couple of years now, leather-bound and fat, that I think I just might fill up with my own deteriorating handwriting some day, and I have high hopes for this new endeavor as well. No rules, though I’d like to vow that I’ll never again blog about blogging. It’s an empty gesture though.
A Rose-Colored Lens
Rose: Me, my middle name, a family name, the most consistent name in my life
Lens: A camera lens, my regular companion
Lens: A way of seeing the world, one perspective
Rose-Colored Lens: A reference to “rose-colored glasses,” optimistic, nostalgic, almost to a fault
Rose-Colored Lens: An insistence on seeing beauty all around, even in unexpected places
A Rose-Colored Lens: My identification label that defines a realm of administrative autonomy, authority, or control in the Internet, this blog, here, an attempt to sweep my breadcrumbs into one tiny corner
