A candle extinguished in a chilly gust.

This blog's first birthday has passed, quietly. A year ago Sunday, the 21st of February, I sat in a Starbucks, jittery from caffeine and ready to crack the spine on something brand new.

In its infancy, it's lived a few lives already. First, it was a place to hide. It was born into anonymity, named for a sign — Vernelle — on my apartment building that no one ever noticed. Designed to keep unwanted readers (one, really) away from my private life and protect my innermost thoughts from scrutiny. I'd been burned. But they always find you; it seems the harder you try to remain cloaked in secrecy, the harder it becomes to cover your tracks. And anyway, narcissism stripped away my unknown identity after a few months. I bought a domain name. I was proudly Paige Worthy again — you can take the girl out of the blogosphere, but you can't take the blogosphere out of the girl. Or something.

I fought hard against my instinct to regurgitate my daily life into words, but it was exhausting to create prose every time I wanted to write. I'm still looking for that balance.

It's been a celebration of singleton status, a travel log, a catalog of my notes on life, a disengaged observer and unabashed critic of my family. An unfolding love story. A paper trail behind the short-lived party girl reforming on her way to all grown up.

A reflection on the painful past, a gleeful glimpse at the hopeful future.

And lately, it's all felt a little contrived. But I won't stop writing. A lot can happen in a year. Happy birthday, little blog.