I’ve disliked every word I’ve written all night long. I’m torn between so many different little stories that I find myself lacking direction and focus. And anyone who has ever met me knows that focus is probably not among my top traits. Do I talk about The Brood? Do I talk about the military and where I am today? Do I talk about the move? Do I talk about unschooling the whelps? Do I talk about the friends I’ve made? Do I talk about my mama’s cancer? Do I talk about Matt? Do I talk about me?
5 years is such a long time.
I tormented myself every time I thought I was ready to start writing again by sitting down with the blog and devoting myself to reorganizing, cleaning up, and (basically) starting fresh. The problem then was that I would start reading. I’d read, and I’d read, and I’d read until I was crying. At that point, I would close my open tabs – my tutorials on WordPress for features added since the last time I touched the blog – and tell myself I’d try again later. “Later” always turned into weeks or months, but I’d open the blog and consider it again.
It never felt like time.
I considered more than once deleting everything and starting from scratch, but that thought would last only seconds. I couldn’t do that because I’d lose the comments left on those posts and – while every comment is special to me – the thought of losing my sister’s comments crushed me. I can still hear her voice saying those things to me. So my blog stayed unused, neglected, and untamed for years.
I’ve set goals for writing before. I’ve “resolution’d” myself to write more than once. I can attribute my mental and emotional struggles to not writing regularly. I remember when I was writing weekly that it didn’t matter what I had to talk about, I felt better after. Sure, some posts were better than others (I’m looking at you, Leadership Portfolio: Experiences), but many times I’d hit that “Publish” button knowing that readers were getting the equivalent of word vomit. I didn’t care much because I wrote for myself and nobody else, but I was always aware that some posts were just sub par.
I don’t always have a story to share. There isn’t always an anecdote or train of thought worth talking about, and that is okay. At this point in my life, the word vomit is the best I have to offer while my thoughts and feelings sort themselves out. I need to write like I need to run; it works wonders on my emotional and mental well-being. I can only hope that I will find a path that organizes things a bit better, that allows for a bit more predictable flow. Until then, we have word vomit, tangents, and unpredictability. I’d love to have some input or guidance on topics worth discussing. I’m sure there are a few!