My name is Robert. I’m 29 years old and live in Jacksonville, FL, with my wife, dog, and two cats. I am a writer.

It’s important I say that—I am a writer. I love writing and in college found I had a knack for it. Writing quickly became a productive output for processing complex thoughts and emotions, and I wanted to believe people would want to read what I had to say. This wasn’t often the case, and over the years I tried to force unnatural creative elements into my work to garner a small following and, if I’m honest, validation. When this didn’t happen, I quit. I didn’t write for a long time. Not only did I forgo publishing my writing, I ceased writing altogether. I no longer told people I was a writer, but more importantly, I stopped telling myself.

Over the years, my wife and therapist have suggested I should write again. I’d often find excuses and decline, but recently, I’ve been discussing identity and confidence with my therapist (and subsequently my wife). Suddenly, the mental fog dissipated, and what they’d been imploring became clear: “If writing helps you achieve and maintain emotional equilibrium, and it’s something you enjoy, then do it.”

I had this flame of passion that many around me tried effortlessly to stoke and keep alive, and I doused it with water repeatedly. This time, I’m bringing the gasoline. Let it blaze. I am a writer. If this forum is a fire, I hope you’ll get cozy and stay a while. Otherwise, I hope it’s a flicker of light or wave of heat on your way.

I’ll tell you about the name, if you’ll allow. “Rarely” has two meanings in this context. A quick Google search will provide the common first meaning, which is that “rarely” means not often; seldom. As I’ve said, my previous attempts at blogging have been disingenuous and inauthentic. I’ve tried to create something attention-grabbing, something enticing. I’ve rarely been me—rarely been Robert.

There is another meaning, however. Archaically, “rarely” means unusually or remarkably well, to an unusual degree, exceptionally. If the preceding paragraph is who I’ve been, then this is who I want to become: rarely me. Exceptionally me. Rarely Robert. Exceptionally Robert.

What does that look like? I don’t know. That’s exciting for me. Without a plan, I feel able to write what comes to mind and heart, and that may change from one day to the next. Perhaps the experts would say that my approach makes for a terrible blog, but that would defeat the purpose of authenticity. I’m no longer promising that I will share short stories or poems (although I might). I won’t post film or music reviews aimed at convincing people (myself included) that I’m a critic. There isn’t a recurring theme or common thread of things I want to teach. This is an autobiography in the making, for better or worse.

This past year has been the most difficult in my life. (If you’ve made it this far, you can read about that in my first post here.) I’ve experienced loss, separation, loneliness, and, above all, tremendous growth. It has been a time of asking myself many questions, among them, “Who am I, really?” The first step to being true to myself is admitting that I may never know. The second is acceptance of that fact. This website is less of a blog and more of a public journal, a live-streamed reflection of what I am thinking, feeling, and learning in real time. As I work toward finding myself, maybe something here helps you find yourself, too. I hope so. If not, it’s all still worth it.

Thank you for being here.