I wrote another blog for years, just for fun – it was very ADD/random. The past 3 years have been so awful that I couldn’t write anything. I had no voice for the things that happened, the words couldn’t be written and then I couldn’t find a place to start again, so I deleted that blog – years and years worth of writing, experiences, and photos. In a way, it felt good and right.
I keep trying to avoid this longing, but apparently, I have a need to write stuff down. I feel guilty – like it’s a waste of precious time. But every single day, I get the urge to document something that has happened, that I’ve learned, thought about, laughed about, cried over.
At 52, I’m beginning to learn/accept who I am. An introvert. This article keeps ringing my bell. 23 Signs You’re Secretly an Introvert. Not always a good thing, I need to learn to not let it be my excuse for retreating and hiding and parsing out little bits of relationship only when I feel like it. But down the list, check, check, check … all so familiar, so close to home – and especially “You are a writer.” Not a professional, for sure, but since I’m constantly composing in my mind, I might as well tap it out here. I’m always afraid I’m offensive on my Facebook page to my friends and acquaintances and I want a place to be honest and even rant if I want to, without apology.
There are millions of blogs out there. Here’s another. I’m not selling anything and this is not a business blog – just a pilgrim passing through. A journey. A Pilgrim’s Progress. A work of grace. Not knowing if anyone ever would or should read anything here, this may just become a journal, but it already feels good. Smile.
And so I begin. Again.
j leigh hart