While on a walk back in October (remember heat?), I remembered -or maybe realized- why I started this blog in the first place.
It was 2012 and things were about to get real: moving towards parenthood/being told there was this massive impending life change coming our way felt mildly horrifying. On the days having a kid didn’t seem scary, it felt uncertain. And regardless of the mood of the day, we can safely assume the weight of what was coming wasn’t accessible to me; there were parts of having a kid and becoming a mom that, try as I might/did, I couldn’t get overly invested in. Like registering (or not.) for a wipe warmer being the measure of care for my unborn child. Or breast feeding; I couldn’t justify staying up more than half a night agonizing over how my child was going to eat. These were my thresholds. I fed and watered them regularly. I knew them well and loved them dearly.
These were only some of things I didn’t care to make my new part-time job or my identity or my thesis on “the right way through.” This sense of what worked and what was broke felt clearer and stronger the more I gave it some space. Soon, this blog became a part of that space, like a filter through the stuff that legitimately felt heavy and the stuff that tried to be.
And where it could, when the weight didn’t involve severe injustice or tragedy or too much sleep deprivation and not enough chocolate, humor found its way in. Anne Lamott believes “laughter is carbonated holiness” and that better include laughing at bad jokes because for me, there is probably no deeper truth.
I can feel the value of this when I think about when and why I stopped writing. At some point, I didn’t need the ritual of sitting to write or the touchstone of this space any longer. That initially strong sense became quieter and so did the voice used to speak to the experiences with wipe warmers and violence five floors below our window and midnight lullabies and mysterious purple spots on her arm and bombings and a (legitimately) tiny baby’s laughter and my questioning which way was up by 3 PM every day.
I didn’t have huge intentions when I started writing. There were no resolutions and no promises to myself. It’s taken a lot of time to understand what this place meant. And I’m here again, with little certainty and even less of a plan.
I’ve been trying to get back here for over two years. Two. And it has felt like riding a bike, which for the sake of this illustration you should know I actually did learn to ride a bike as a child, forgot during my 4 year hiatus from biking (the true cost of a college education college), and had to relearn as a 20-something. The road back to biking took time and patience- meanwhile, Marc took pictures- and relearning to be in this space has clearly required the same.
Blood, sweat, tears and blogging. Whatever it takes. I hope I keep coming back I hope you will too because it would be so stupidly lovely to give you something to laugh about or a thought to think on or the inspiration to go ride your bike.
Peace, love, and helmets, friends.
PS- check out The Very Hungry from yesteryear. She’s adorable.