New Three Decades of Clicks, Likes, and Community: A Heartfelt Journey Through the Evolution of the Queen of the Internet

As I sit here, fingers poised over the keyboard, a wave of disbelief and profound gratitude washes over me. My journey in the online world spans three decades – I've essentially grown up alongside the internet. Who remembers my first website,”Lucy Lipps” (circa 1994) built painstakingly pixel by pixel. Could I have ever predicted that this tech-obsessed side hustle would lead to features in USA Today, The New York Times, Forbes, Playboy, Wired, Fortune, and the Wall Street Journal? The thought sends a shiver down my spine. It's been a mind-bending, exhilarating, and sometimes surreal ride, full of surprises that have tested my adaptability and creativity.

Life has a delicious way of taking detours, and eventually, I found myself stepping back from the glare of the online spotlight. When I returned to writing my prose, I stumbled into the vibrant "Mommy Blogger" scene. It was like navigating a new neighborhood, but I was fortunate to find a few early believers – kind strangers who left comments that made my day sparkle. Amazingly, some of those online acquaintances blossomed into lasting friendships that have withstood the test of time and distance.

Here's the bittersweet part: almost every blog that welcomed me to this vibrant community has gone dark, like lights flickering out one by one. Some writers I keep up with through the occasional email, but others have vanished like digital ghosts, leaving behind only a faint memory of their presence. Their blogs are abandoned, a virtual tumbleweed rolling through the pages, and I miss them. Deeply. It's an odd sensation, this mourning of people I've never met in person, yet the feeling is as real as the ache of missing an old friend.

Attending my first blogging conference was a revelation, like finally finding the missing piece of a puzzle. Putting faces to the names I'd known for years made the connections feel tangible, real. It was a potent reminder that real, flawed, wonderful people are behind these websites, pouring their hearts and souls into the words that flow onto our screens.

Lately, I've been curious – why do bloggers stop? Do we run out of words, like a well drying up? Get swamped by the demands of life, or simply burn out from the constant glow of screens, our minds craving a respite from the digital hum? There are countless reasons, but here's the truth: your words matter. They resonate, provoke, comfort – they touch lives in ways we may never fully realize. And when you disappear, you leave a void, a silence that echoes through the online communities you once called home.

I suspect many bloggers quit because they feel unsuccessful or discouraged by the response. Which is why comments are lifeblood, the oxygen that keeps a blog thriving. It's not about amassing a hundred comments daily; it's the human connection and validation that someone, anyone, is reading your truth, is hearing your voice. I make a point to comment on new blogs every week, to be that first spark of encouragement for a fellow writer, to let them know they're not alone in this vast digital landscape.

So, why do you keep writing? Have you ever teetered on the edge of quitting, of letting the doubts and fears silence your voice?

As for me, I hope I'm never done. My focus has shifted from mommy blogging to podcasting and now I find myself reccomending eye cream to women over 40, but my passion for this community remains fierce, a burning fire that fuels my creativity. For those of you who kept me in your hearts while I was away, thank you. Your faith in me means more than you'll ever know. I'm wading back into my fourth decade on the Inernet, my toes tentative but my spirit eager, and your patience means the world.

Thanks for sticking around, friends. Here's to many more posts, podcasts, and the connections that make it all worthwhile. Here's to the power of community, to the enduring bonds we forge in this vast, wondrous space we call the internet. I'm so grateful to have you along for the ride.

Kristi