Last Thursday was the 1st of September, which heralded the start of autumn. Well, the meteorological start of autumn anyway. It might still be warm outside but the signs are telling me that my favourite season is upon us.
So why then has it felt like such a slog?
As much as I love autumn there’s always a strange tinge of sadness in the air. Maybe sadness isn’t the word, but there’s a weird melancholy that sweeps in and makes me feel a li’l more reflective than usual.
I’ve been trying my darndest to keep up with blogging regularly. So far I’ve managed three weekly posts in three weeks which, for me, is actually pretty productive. Not to mention my other attempts this year: whether it’s been my travels to Oslo or Berlin, a reaction to the treatment of zero hours workers or my most-read post to date, a reflection on figuring out the uncharted waters of pregnancy.
The online world seems so oversaturated with bloggers that it can feel a little daunting, or even intimidating, trying to get yourself heard. I first started blogging in 2009 (an actually-not-terrible account of my film and TV habits but with a fairly offensive colour scheme). Do I wish I’d kept it up way back? Well yeah, when you see what other people have achieved in less time. The platform was practically in its infancy back then and carving out a place might’ve been easier to do.