Aren’t there better, less tired analogies to be made?

Almost certainly. However, I have found over the past few years that I’m really not as creative as certain people – read: my mother – believe. In fact, I often find myself consciously writing clichés into my work. There’s a point where it simply becomes too much to try to be original. Besides, I’ve figured that there must be a reason that certain things become so popular. They must actually work some power in a crooked sort of way.

Likewise, the idea of a cocoon works for me in multiple ways. First, as the obvious—cocoons symbolize a stage of growth and change, both of which I have plenty of currently, whilst plowing my way through the frustratingly gelatinous landscape of young adulthood. The cocoon also reminds me of my best friend and roommate of three years, who rolled herself so tightly within her massive (and ridiculously cozy) comforter while she slept that I began calling it her cocooning stage. Since then it has evoked safety and ease. Because the present circumstances feel as if I am being ripped from my metaphorical cocoon – no, I’m not being dramatic! – I very often have the desire to crawl back into the greying, guileless remains of my early youth and swath myself in the reassuring fuzz of my former naïveté. (I imagine you are now picturing me draped atop a wooden chair, back of my trembling palm pressed against my cold forehead. I will neither confirm nor deny this is happening.)

Histrionics aside, the purpose of this blog is at its core a self-indulgent one. In fact, there’s really nothing I can do to legitimize any opinions I may state in future posts. Cocoon is just me, wrapped in my own self absorption, preoccupied with the protective gauze of the ways I like to live. I’m not an expert, though I may pretend to be. Nor am I original, though I wish I was. My primary goal in running Cocoon is not to prove that I am either of these but in hopes that Cocoon will help me grow.

Though this growth will almost certainly not be the physical kind, it is difficult to imagine that the last of my teen years and the beginning of my twenties will not involve some kind of change. Albeit rather frightening – I am, after all, a person of routines – these changes may be some of the most significant yet. (At least, according to many older people who seem to all think so fondly on their college memories.) In these past couple of years, I’ve begun to feel like a real person, my own person. There’s a bittersweet realization that all children have when they find that they are no longer anyone’s but their own. I am in the midst of this discovery myself. The near future will be dominated by this knowledge. I hope that, in documenting it, I can emerge from my cocoon better assured that I won’t have to scramble back in to escape from what I encounter on the outside.

Cocoon is, in some respects, a lifestyle blog. I expect whoever reads this will learn things about me—how could they not? However, it is not all of me. I am simply not important or interesting enough to be leading the internet through my daily schedules and intimate conversations, nor do I have the energy or desire to do so. This is merely a curated collection of my interests and experiences. I hope you enjoy it.