In a fit of something I can’t quite define, I have decided that the only way I’m going to really start blogging again is by simply starting. And not stopping.
So I’m sitting in my office, contemplating a variety of tasks all up to me to plan, a close-approaching trip to the Finger Lakes and the general path of the last few years of my life. Grooveshark has helpfully provided a soundtrack that I’ve always found encouraging: .
I used to write incessantly. I wrote in school, I wrote for fun, I filed news stories and opinion columns and tome-length emails to friends. I journaled without end. First bowing to an obsession with recording every moment of my life. Then in an effort to detail every inch (and emotional iota) of a beautiful place. To wade through the morass of graduation and finding work in a city I thought I’d grown up in but didn’t really know. And then in frenzy, to record the millions of tiny moments I knew would evaporate from my mind into the void of grief. That eventually turned into a series of daily declarations. I can be happy. I will enjoy life.
Without realizing it, my writing began to bear witness to the turnaround I had willed. And with happiness and the business of actually living my life, I had less time to record it. It seemed somehow indulgent to record pages of bliss rather than pages of agony. The journaling quit. The long emails (for the most part) became bullet points, or text messages or Gchat windows.
But, let’s be honest. I miss the writing. Why else would I have just signed onto a MJ program? So I am committed to writing again. I expect to have some things to chronicle, among them the aforementioned MJ program, an old friend’s wedding, and the evolution of a fundraising event to support a memorial fund. Hold me to it.