I miss my blog. I miss the feeling I get when writing a post - like all my thoughts are pouring out onto the computer, leaving me cleansed and at peace. I miss the rush that would come when I hit the publish button. The sense of connection that came with each comment. I have written for many reasons over the years; to share adventures with loved ones far away, to work through muddled thoughts that weren't made clear until they were organized into words, and to entertain. I have written to record time and leave memories for myself and for Paisley and to gain insight from other web dwellers on a particular topic. For years now this blog has been an extension of myself.
Lately, I have not been writing. I have excused myself, rationalized and apologized. I have felt guilty and pressured. Tonight I am sitting here thinking, "Why?" Does my lack of blogging mean something more than I want it to? Does it reflect my quieter, far less dramatic life? Am I unable to appreciate the little humours and gifts that parenthood brings or unable to weave them into stories worth hearing?
I think the truth is that I am happier than I have ever been. Much of my writing over the years has been fueled by guilt or angst - or more often, both. I have felt compelled to write to fill some void, to address a hollowness that never left. When I think of myself not writing I feel ashamed. I know it is who I am and what I am "meant" to do and so when I am silent, I am failing. While this is still true, I feel okay about that now. Not okay about failing but okay about just being. I write every single day for work and I love it. I take pictures and sing songs and spend every waking hour with Paisley, making memories. I am proud of who I am, excited about my growing business, optimistic about life and my future, healthy, inspired and peaceful.
I no longer fear an empty page.