C'est la vie
Wow. I’m gonna be honest. I just read my last blog or “vlog” post, as it were, and it’s dated July of 2018. Yikes. That’s coming up on 2 years ago now and honestly, I find that sad. Truth? I love to journal. Always have. It’s never been a chore for me. My journals date back to childhood (those ones are hilarious to read, but probably only to me) I sometimes wonder if my children will just quietly close the lids on the boxes of journals I’ve accumulated after I’m gone. Whose journals really get read? I mean front to back. I very much doubt many do. Only if the person becomes famous or I guess today, strangely, it can be the process of recording and sifting through one’s innermost thoughts that can lead to fame. It feels backwards. I can’t tell you why exactly, but it feels sort of wrong to me. There was a time when reading someone’s journal was very uncouth. Who does that? Now, we proudly publish our ugliest (and sometimes most beautiful) thoughts, words, feelings… they are all released into the air, onto the internet and subsequently into our minds and sometimes hearts. Who has time and energy to filter all that? And so it is that I tend to want to hang back here in my own quiet realm of lovely blank pages of paper and the comforting permanence of ink. Whatever I say to the pages of my journal remains between us… my blank creamy confidant and me. But a blog? Yeah, that’s a different thing altogether. So, all that to say that I struggle. I struggle with consistency in blogging and I struggle with the whole concept.
Right now I can totally see someone out there being like, “We get it, so shut up and sit down then!” Hang tight random citizen, I’m coming to the point and the end. As I was saying, so why exactly am I trying to blog? That’s a fair question. My very first knee jerk reaction is to point to a certain red-headed man that I married over 23 years ago. But that would probably be unfair. I can’t trace EVERY challenge I have back to him. (see, case in point… a poor joke, I shouldn’t be let loose to blog, it’s no bueno). No, I guess it comes back to the basic human need to explain oneself to the world. To try and iron out via the meticulous retracing of thoughts and steps, decisions, and undertakings the circuitous route called life.
Life is art. Art is messy. And I love art. But I am not the one painting this canvas of my life. I surrendered that brush long ago, now I’m just tracing a few of God’s lines… sometimes discerning the pattern of things and sometimes completely at a loss. You know how confusing it can be to try and figure out what an artist is painting where they’re in the middle of it all. But I might use this blog as a place to trace a line or two.. and if it’s just more word spun out into the ether… well, then C’est la vie.
(also, if you have something against ellipsis’ then maybe you should NOT read this blog… I love the little things.)