Earlier this week, I decided to walk away from the Facebook profile I had maintained for over seventeen years, for another profile I created about two years ago (under a newer nom de plume than one that had been with me for as long). When I created the new profile, I did so with the intent of weaving it together with posts more central to content I intended for a new blog (this one), and a community with which I found myself growing more comfortable. I “inhabited” the new profile for a little while, left it, and have now returned. I simply felt the “ghosts of yesterday” did not mesh well with a transition that’s been ongoing (in retrospect) with me for at least the last six years. In that old profile were my old interests, my old blogs (and, often, theme-related posts), and, indeed, many of my (remaining) friends… some being relatives, some actual friends, and yet, others who were online acquaintances with whom a sort of mutual, virtual “friendship” had developed.

It made me wonder. Did I abandon my… MY… own personal space because of…maybe… what I felt were expectations of the old following, or did I leave because where I once was is no longer where I am today? Perhaps both. Further, given the current divisions in political beliefs, maybe even more than that. I felt a need to break away.

It dawned on me a few days later that, in that transition, my actions may have actually mirrored a meme. You know… the one that occasionally pops up, that shows a dark, foreboding cabin in the woods, usually accompanied by wording that explains a desire to retreat forever to said cabin. Yet, I didn’t abandon everybody. For those who had actually followed my posts for the past two to three years… followed my annual travels to Europe and the shift in the very nature of my posts… I extended a hope, that perhaps I’d see them… here.

A few did follow, and to them, I hope that my new “cabin in the woods” isn’t as foreboding as it may be to others. It’s funny, but it brings a memory to mind… of my visit to the Grasmere Gingerbread Shop, in the English Lakes District of Cumbria. If ever there was a place from which I could virtually share the enchantment of the olfactory, it would be the smell and charm of the little store that sells Sarah Nelson’s gingerbread. It’s that sort of warmth and comfort that I hope I can convey in at least some of my posts.

Now I know that there might be some irony in talking about a dark, foreboding cabin in the woods… and the smell of gingerbread. Lol. Maybe it’s welcoming to some while being foreboding to others because of the difference in being open-minded when it comes to the content of this blog and my new FB profile. Perhaps, then, the duality in the meaning of the imagery is purposeful and appropriate.