I’ve been reading back through this dusty old blog tonight. It’s been fun to read about how I felt at different times throughout the last several years and remember things I’d forgotten. It made me realize how much I’ve missed writing here. It’s been a space to process my thoughts but also, to write for no reason other than to write because I love it. I’m not a journaling person although I do admit to having a few journals in a rubbermaid bin somewhere. They’re full of angst and drama from my teen years.

Writing sort of found me by accident. I wasn’t drawn to it in high school or even in college. What I was drawn to were books. If you know me, you know I love books. I love to read them most of all but I also love to look at book covers in a bookstore. I love to think about how the author came up with her idea for the story and what the process was to get it onto the shelf. I love to see a shelf full of them and if it’s in my house, even better. I’ve been slowly won over to reading from a kindle from time to time but paper books will always be my first choice. In a world filled with technology, a paper book takes me back to nature. My husband rolls his eyes when I say I’m one step away from a tree with a book in my hand. 😉 But seriously, I do love the disconnect of a paper book.

And now I’ve forgotten what I was trying to say. Oh yes, writing and I found each other by accident. When my boys were very young, I started a blog that doesn’t exist anymore where I wrote about early motherhood because I was home with the kids, feeling isolated and I wanted something that helped me not forget myself. It brought me a lot of joy. What had started as an attempt to not feel obsolete turned into something I realized I was good at. I could get words out in a way that made sense. Eventually, life got in the way and I let my blog go. I didn’t renew the website and that was that. And then I started this blog because I wanted to try again. And then I stopped. I can’t even tell you why. I think life got busy and I told myself I’d get around to it and then I didn’t. It’s as simple as that.

And now here I am.

Sometimes I have a hard time thinking of what I want to write about so I don’t. And sometimes the only topic I can think to write about is a crazy rant about something that mades me really mad. So I don’t. I rarely share do my frustrated opinions in public unless I’ve really thought about it and decided it’s worth it. It’s usually not.

I’m currently under the covers in my bed on a Friday night. It’s been a long week. There are things going on that I can’t say much about. There is grief I’m still deciding how to process. But there are also wonderings and a longing for a space to do something that isn’t for my family or my job or even for my dog or house or yard or credit score.

So here I am, writing on this blog. I’m going to dip my toes in the water and see how it feels. If I’m lucky, it’ll feel good enough to go for a dip and stay awhile. And if it doesn’t, it’s okay. This is a no pressure kind of space! But I’m hoping I do love it. Not for any other reason than to do something that’s just for me. That’s reason enough, right?