I’m Jen Raffensperger, and I’m here to write about myself.
Hey, at least I’m honest, right?
When I was eleven years old my father was going to cast aside his old Smith-Corona typewriter, and I begged him not to. He let me have it, and I carried it triumphantly to my room where I proceeded to bang out such deathless prose as “The Three Pygmies Go to Rhode Island.” (There was a whole series of Three Pygmies books. There are no extant copies. We’re all better off, really.) Around the same time I started keeping a journal, never a diary. A diary, to me, was one of those little books with a locking clasp that only gave you a page per day, and what good was that? My first journal was one of those black-and-white speckled composition books, and I wrote in pencil.
That started a bit of a trend. I’ve been writing things down – bad poetry, deep thoughts, secret and not-so-secret crushes – ever since. And it seems to be a part of that trend to leave a certain amount of impermanence in place. Why write in pencil if you don’t want to go back and erase? A blog isn’t any great bastion of permanence, but I’ve had one (in differing iterations) for about eight years now, and it seems to be habit-forming.
The basics are I am a 39-year-old project manager who lives alone with two cats. The basics make me sound a little like someone you wouldn’t want to trust around a hatchet. My life is rich and full, with many friends, functional family relationships, hobbies and interests, and a growing community involvement. Yet still I persist in writing about myself.
You will find, though, that I might not always write about myself. Or I may try to apply things I am figuring out for myself to the world around me. I may have an insight or an observation or just a funny story. On this blog, unlike some in the past, I will try to write mindfully, conscientiously, engagingly, and clearly. If I don’t, I owe you a cookie.