A story about a very important, unimportant cup and what it taught me about grief and my (undiagnosed) autistic brain.
Sometimes I think back to early blogging days and cringe. Other times, I think back and laugh at how ridiculous I was (and still am). And then there are times when I reflect on the overarching themes of my blog posts that I was too close to detect at the time.
I’ve thought about reposting this particular story for a while and I decided to finally do so today for a few reasons:
- For some reason, this blog post didn’t make it over to my new site when I moved from WordPress to Squarespace in 2020. I actually left a large number of blog posts behind when I made the switch for various reasons but mostly because a lot of them didn’t fit with who I was anymore and the direction I wanted to take my new site.
I think about this decade-old blog post a lot, however. I can remember the experience vividly and knowing what I know about myself now and what I was going through at the time, I find it incredibly eye-opening. I’ll add some more notes at the end but first, let’s talk about the other reason I’m reposting an old blog post instead of the three other posts I had in mind. - I’ve had an incredibly difficult time focusing these past few weeks and though I have 300 ideas of things I want to write about, I can’t seem to get myself going. It’s pretty frustrating that executive dysfunction makes it tough to get started on things I want to do but I’m trying to accept the reality that this is just the way my brain works and not fight it too much.
That said, here is a post I wrote in 2011 about a very important cup.