I left this poor little rowboat of a blog out in the vast ocean of the internet to fend for itself. Life has been overwhelming. Two trips to Japan, a kindergarten registration, a snow storm that “trapped” me in Tennessee cabin with 30 other professional photographers, laundry, yard work, and an anxiety attack inducing trip to the dentist where they told me I had $2000 worth of cavities. That’s what the last few months have looked like. They have been wonderful and exhausting and so so overwhelming.
Somehow those things that bring the most solace are the first to go when everything is hectic. Writing is a sturdy locked door behind which I can fall apart without the grace the world expects. Usually I do it in private on the backs of receipts or on the corners of snotty napkins but sometimes those unkempt thoughts end up in a somewhat coherent piece that ends up here. The truth is that I haven’t been writing at all. Not privately or publicly. I’ve let the daily practice slide and managed to excuse myself from all the things that tether me to the ground.
And I didn’t even realize I had done it. In fact, it was my pesky little brother that reminded me of a folder full of unfinished thoughts on my desktop beseeching completion. Leave it to little brothers to remind you of everything you never did. I’m trying to be better and remind myself that the unfolded laundry can wait and the box of Annie’s organic mac and cheese won’t suffer from a night on the counter instead of in the pantry.
There is something so wearing about all those day by day responsibilities that we get caught in them. We forget that living is not just a beating heart. It is the awareness that the thump against the breastbone is not eternal and that each beat is a split-second offering from the universe. Life is more than a knee jerk reflex. Living is being and doing and doing with purpose. For me that means writing and hiding behind my camera and playing with Playdoh ; barbeque with good friends and good beer and exploring. I’ve been doing a lot of exploring and not enough time with the people who love me. And spending almost no time thinking about what this vast world world means as I traverse though it. And I’m sorry I forgot to write, more for me than for anyone else. I’m trying, I really am.