Here we go again. I haven’t written a blog since July 17th. Cue me saying, “I really want to write more.” And I do. Really. Pinky promise this time.
My husband is always amazed at my memory. He’ll ask, “How do you remember when this happened? Or which concerts you’ve been to? Or the exact day we met?” The answer is not some freaky super-brain. It’s because I’ve been journaling since forever.
Like, literally since 1st grade when I got my first journal from the Scholastic Book Fair. (Did I just take you back? You’re welcome. Also: the smell of those book fairs? Instant serotonin.) I wrote constantly and never really stopped. Then came Open Diary and LiveJournal, where I chronicled everything. Was it stuff that didn’t really need to be on the internet? Oh, absolutely. Am I glad I did it? Also absolutely. Because now I can look back and relive all the cringe in HD.
And it wasn’t just words – I used to take tons of pictures, too. Back in the early Facebook days, I was that person. If you were in college in the early 2000s, you know the vibe: 27 albums with names like “HeRe’s To ThE NiGhTs We’LL NeVeR ReMeMbEr WiTh ThE PeOpLe We’LL NeVeR FoRgEt” and about 200 blurry bar photos that you really, really didn’t want your mom (or your boss) to see. Posting everything was just what we did.
Somewhere along the way, I slowed down on taking and posting pictures. I don’t know if it’s lack of inspiration, or if I’m just trying to “live in the moment,” or if I don’t feel like sharing everything anymore. Probably all three.
Then came the rise of Instagram, Snapchat, and the dreaded word: “oversharing.” Suddenly it wasn’t “fun memory-keeping,” it was “why are you telling the internet this?” And okay, fair. I’ve rolled my eyes at posts too. (“Wow, thanks for letting me know your cat threw up on your rug at 3 a.m., Brenda.”) That whole vibe has made me pull back.
Add in my own perfectionism, and it’s basically a recipe for silence. Because here’s the thing – I want to post my pictures. I want to post them on Instagram, Facebook, all of it. But if I don’t do it the day it happens, it’s probably not getting posted. I want the dates to be precise because that’s how I track my life. I end up posting nothing at all. Between worrying about oversharing and obsessing over perfection, it’s no wonder my feed has tumbleweeds blowing through it.
And then there’s this whole “brand” thing. RD on the Run started when I was a Detroit Marathon ambassador and thought, “Hey, maybe I’ll be a running influencer.” (Spoiler: I did not become a running influencer.) Running was pretty much my entire identity at the time. I still love it, but it’s not as important as it once was. Yet I keep worrying when I go to write a blog: “Is this on theme for RD on the Run? Should I post this? What if it’s too personal?” Cue: zero posts.
Here’s where I’m at now: I don’t want to be boxed in.
I want to write about concerts (like the Nine Inch Nails show I went to last week melted my face off – one of the best concerts of my life). I want to write about random moments, the good, the bad, the hilarious. Sure, I could keep that in a private journal, but I actually love the connection that comes from sharing. I love when friends post stories and photos, and I want to join in.
So, yeah: I’m still RD on the Run. I still pay for the URL (do you know how annoying it is to change domains? Hard pass). I’m still a registered dietitian and a runner. But I’m also a wife, a cat mama, a Swiftie, a concert junkie, a daughter, a sister, and a friend.
My husband thinks I have a super memory, but really, I just have words and pictures and stories – and that’s what keeps my memories alive. So this is me recommitting. Not to a “brand.” Not to being an “influencer.” Just to writing. For me. For the memories. Even if it feels like oversharing. Even if the dates aren’t perfect. Because I’d rather look back and laugh at myself than look back and see nothing at all.
RD on the Run 