So here we are. Months and months (and even more months) have gone by. Have I written my novel? Lost that last ten pounds? Found eternal happiness by sitting on a bench and contemplating bliss while the kids were in school? Sadly, no. None of these things. In fact, a strong argument can be made that I have ventured FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR from what I had set out to do (see above for original list of things I have set out to do).
A quick check in on the cast of characters who are of course the stars of my show (and universe). Husband – Mr. Take a year? He is still humming along, doing amazing things and inspiring everyone in his orbit, his humor and wit and can do attitude rarely cease to amaze me (and if those things ever do cease to amaze me, I can fall back on all the times they regularly have). Big Sister – fourth grade is tough, man. Judy Blume delved into it. But she is a champion over hard things and hasn’t met a challenge that has caused her to slump down for too long. Little Sister? I fear that even whispering the recent success of not crying every day until she almost vomits or until I almost vomit or until a butterfly flaps its wings in Brazil and almost vomits seems to be asking for it…but I can say with some degree of certainty to the mommas and the daddies and the caregivers out there struggling with separation anxiety that it does, in fact get better.
Which leads me again to, well, me, because in some twist of fate, me being myself, all things somehow land on soul-searching and then planning on what to do about what I find afterward. So here I sit, at a computer alone with my thoughts and plans and hopes and dreams almost crushed flat by the accompanying insecurity that always seems to be part of the package too. Which reminds me of a sad little poem I wrote when I was an ill-tempered teenager filled with angst:
Oh my dear God, who could I be –
If it didn’t have to be me?
(I would like to think there is some redeeming solace for me in the fact that I called on God to answer that mournful ditty).
It seems presumptuous or maybe even just annoying that I am at this stage of my life with the luxury of wondering just who in the world I think I am. I know there are people all over the world who wake up and answer that question by saying “Uh, who am I? You am late for your double shift at work today, honey, gettoutta the mirror and get out the door”. I don’t think I can call myself a work-in-progress if I am not working or progressing all too much.
How can blogging help that, you might wonder…Saying things outloud (ish, I mean typing them as loudly as these low profile keys will let me???) did have the cosmic power to keep me beholden to the craft of writing and the art of searching for the better word, the more fluid prose, the best analogy and the more encompassing way to explain something. For a year, the practice of turning in work that my ruthless editors (everyone who pointed out misspellings, or the need for oxford commas or my general inability to cut a run-on sentence into the three sentences it should have been) kept me in the fluid practice of writing, which, misguided as it might seem is something I do believe I should be doing. (Personally, I think everyone should be doing this and the sharing of ideas would be a pretty swell thing). In a nutshell, yes, I think blogging can help. So I am back. And it feels good