Obsession (& The Most Embarrassing Blog Post I’ve Ever Written)

September 18, 2012

I was twelve when it started. We were in Dublin visiting family when my Mum spotted that Boyzone were playing at The Point Theatre. I’d never been particularly interested in music, and although I’d heard of the band and seen them perform on SMTV Live (with Ant & Dec – remember that!?), I wouldn’t say I was a fan. But for some reason my Mum asked if we wanted to go and so she went to see if she could get tickets for the show that night.

We were in the very back row. I remember being sat next to my excited younger sisters and someone else’s little brother (who looked rather unimpressed throughout the whole thing). I’d bought a tee-shirt from the concessions stand and I was ready to…erm… rock. And right then and there I fell in love.

I’m not sure what it was… it certainly wasn’t the quality of the show (we couldn’t see eff all from back there!) but something about being there, and seeing them in the flesh (well as tiny dots…) made me fall head over heels… and with lead singer Ronan Keating in particular.

And yes, I cried actual tears when he got married.

This all encompassing obsession continued throughout my teenage years. I collected every. single. piece of Boyzone memorabilia that my pocket money could buy. I had books, CDs, posters, scrapbooks, tee-shirts, dolls…  I went to eight concerts. EIGHT! I even once laid my collection out on my bedroom floor and took a photograph of it. God knows why. I think it was the ‘thing’ to do back then, to share your obsession with Smash Hits magazine or something. In fact so significant was my preoccupation that it even got a mention in my dad’s father of the bride speech, concluding with my parents handing over my box of shame to my new husband (yeah thanks for that).

Anyway this all went on for about 3 years, until I hit my mid teens and discovered rock music, snakebite & black and boys with tattoos. Thank goodness.

I’ve always had an obsessive personality and despite the fact that I’ve been clenching my butt cheeks with the utter cringeworthyness of this post the whole time I’ve been writing it, I do now celebrate it. It’s undoubtedly got me where I am today.

These days I’m obsessed with weddings… and blogging… and photography… and without that unapologetic passion I don’t think I’d be as good a blogger or business woman. I also have no doubt in my mind that being this way keeps me ahead of the competition.

I spend hours researching anything and everything about my chosen subject. I’m excited about every wedding I blog and article I post, and (I hope) that comes across to my readers. However it’s not just the way that I write, or the stuff that I share, it’s the fact that I know as much as I possibly can about the things I’m blogging. There is never anything half-arsed about what I publish. I give it my all.

“You’re better than Google”, Lisa once said,”I can ask you about any wedding you’ve ever blogged and you remember it.”

So what’s the point of today’s post… apart from to totally eradicating any credibly I ever had as the ‘cool’ wedding blogger?

On one hand it’s maybe a bit of therapy (I’ve been carrying this dirty little secret for years I tell you) but on the other hand I’d like to ask you to think about your own obsessions – past or present. What was it about that particular thing that made you go so over-the-top? It doesn’t matter what it was or how it manifested, it’s the reason behind it that’s important. Let’s be honest, Boyzone were hardly musical geniuses were they? Allow yourself to think about it for a while and then let’s see if we can bring that reasoning into our work and our lives today.

Yes, I loved Ronan and his beautiful long flowing blonde hair, but more than that I loved to collect. I loved to save. I loved to share my ideas with others (although Smash Hits never did publish my photo – sad face). And in a way, that’s a kind of primitive version of blogging isn’t it? I guess this is what I was always destined to do!

So I ask you, what are (or were) you obsessed with?

(All photos from my own personal collection of shame).