My blog’s origin story is much like any other’s. It started as a place for me to share stories with friends and family six years ago, and my readership eventually grew to include people I don’t know personally that also engage with my content. Despite a shift in said content in 2020, it still primarily serves the same purpose. I come here weekly to biweekly to share stories, thoughts, and information and, over the last few months at least, I have actually seen increased engagement on this platform. Still, in my best Carrie Bradshaw voice, I couldn’t help but wonder what the true future of blogging is.
With the rise of TikTok, it is clear the wave of short-form content over the last few years is not slowing down anytime soon (or potentially ever). Though the ‘main’ social media platforms still have their own competitive advantages, seeing Instagram create Reels and Twitter give users the option to make stories has shown that the biggest war right now is who can make the most interesting content in a minute or less–bonus points if it’s in a video format, though none of these platforms can hold a candle to the innovation that Vine users had, in my personal opinion. But we also can’t forget about the threat of the podcast. I remember everybody and their mom was trying to make a podcast in 2018 because, much like audiobooks, it has given us the option to listen to long-form content handsfree while also feeling like we’re chatting with friends (depending on the style of the podcast). There are a lot of factors that contribute to these forms of media being favorable to blogs: our declining attention span due to technology overload, the aging of Gen Z, the aesthetic appeal of visual content, and us being in quarantine and needing constant stimulation. However, where does blogging fit in?
Anybody else feel completely detached from their age? I don’t mean this in feeling more youthful or more mature, I mean I simply do not feel like a 26-year-old. I find this more common amongst the younger Millennials where we feel so lost in this world since we have not reached those “traditional” milestones of adult independence: having things in our name (e.g. car, house), starting a family, working one job that provides enough income that we aren’t living paycheck to paycheck despite having a degree (or two). A lot of us still have some kind of support from our parents and being 26, I just hit one year of being on my own insurance. Even if we were to take money out of the equation (although it is the main issue), we don’t even have the confidence of being an adult to make our own decisions.
I’m just going to say it: when we think of bucket lists, we think of death. I mean, that’s where the saying comes from–“kicking the bucket.” Often times, people don’t even seriously consider creating a bucket list until they have a near-death experience. But this post is about living. Living life to the fullest, more specifically. After my stay last week at the Virgin Hotel, I have been thinking a lot about my bucket list:
I think we can all collectively agree that the last thing on our minds is a New Year’s Resolution. Although I’ve already caught glimpses of morning news broadcasts talking about losing quarantine weight, I like to think most of us are fully aware that COVID-19 doesn’t expire at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Though it is exciting to have almost-certainty that an effective vaccine is coming our way in 2021, I know I’ve learned my lesson about great expectations. I certainly don’t think there’s anything wrong with goal-setting as I have been making vision boards for the past two years and may even do one next month; however, I don’t have to be the one to discuss the harmful effects of setting overly ambitious goals at the beginning of the year and falling into a pit of self-pity three weeks later.