Eleven.

Steel, turquoise or citrine. If you’re looking for the appropriate blogiversary gifts.

I’ve been writing here for eleven years. That’s longer than anywhere I’ve worked, anywhere I’ve gone to school. It means I’ve had a little online home here nearly as long as I’ve had one anywhere in life.

When I started I was at my first full-time job after college. I was recovering from a car accident. I was starting graduate school. I was living with five guys. I was halfway through the longest relationship I’d have. It’s tempting to say, I was a baby and I knew nothing.

I mean, I was and I didn’t – totally true. But saying it implies that now I’m not and I do. I’m not so sure about that part of it. But at least I had here to write about it as I went – for eleven years and more than fifteen hundred posts.

Now I’m several jobs later, recovering from something different, with a real home and town. And yeah, I still know nothing. But at least I still have here to write about it.

Here’s to eleventy-one more.